


Black and Bronze

by YoroiNoKyojin



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Blood and Gore, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 68,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoroiNoKyojin/pseuds/YoroiNoKyojin
Summary: -- Evelyn finally turned her gaze back up to Hancock and when their eyes met, something warm and electric seemed to shoot through them both; the same white-hot arrow piercing both their chests. Her breath caught and her eyes widened… and she saw that same awe reflected on his scarred face.Something was there. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it scared her. Evelyn moved to pull back, to thank him for his help and make a hasty retreat, but his hand caught hers and that confident grin was plastered back onto his face, as if he too had caught himself and quickly put his facade back into place. “We can't disappoint everyone, now can we?” His voice was playful, but underneath that she felt like there was a genuine question. “After all, you did ask ‘the handsome mayor’ to dance.” --[[ A Hancock x SS fic! This includes many of the NPCs and companions and also includes many different adventures, both canon and made-up. This fic has got it all -- angst, adventure, gore, comfort, romance, and steamy smut. ]]
Relationships: Ellie Perkins/Nick Valentine, John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 30
Kudos: 51





	1. Fever / Beautiful Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> ** Apologies if there are any typos/continuity errors/grammatical errors in this fic! I don't have any beta readers so I probably won't catch everything.
> 
> Each chapter title are actually song titles that are relevant to the chapter!
> 
> For chapter one, the songs are as follows:
> 
> "Fever," by Peggy Lee.
> 
> "Beautiful Stranger," by Halsey.

> * * *
> 
> _  
> **Beautiful stranger,  
>  Here you are in my arms and I know  
> That beautiful strangers  
> Only come along to do me wrong—   
> And I hope, beautiful stranger,  
> Here you are in my arms;  
> But I think it's finally  
> Finally, finally, finally, finally safe...  
> For me to fall.** _
> 
> * * *

“Goodneighbor, huh? There are some unsavory characters there.”

“Can’t be any worse than the paranoid idiots back in Diamond City, Nick.”

Nick Valentine grunted quietly at his traveling companion and gave a noncommittal shrug, although something resembling a smile crossed his slate gray features. “Before we go in there, I’ll warn you that the mayor is a bit —“

“I can handle whatever is thrown at me,” Evelyn Pressley replied confidently, giving the detective behind her a sly grin. They’d known each other for a month now; when would he learn that she wasn’t afraid of anything? 

Evelyn was grateful to Nick, though — he’d been exactly the help she’d been searching for ever since leaving that damned Vault. She was still searching for Shaun and thanks to Nick, she had an idea of where to start: _Conrad Kellogg._ She and Nick searched the merc’s place in Diamond City and found no leads; only some spare belongings he’d left behind. Nick had the bright idea to get Dogmeat’s nose on the case; maybe he could sniff out Kellogg’s scent, somehow. They had a plan — now they just needed the _funds._ Kellogg was a talented mercenary and it would take some heavy weapons to take him down. Unfortunately, Evelyn’s best weapon was a sawed-off combat shotgun, and while it could pack a punch, she wasn’t sure if it would be enough to take Kellogg and his employees down. So to get the caps needed to execute her plan… she needed to find some work.

Goodneighbor just happened to be nearby.

Evelyn hadn’t even heard of Goodneighbor before; but apparently Nick was apprehensive of the place. Evelyn had never been a stranger to danger or chaos, so a rough neighborhood didn’t faze her at all. Before the war, before shit hit the fan, she was a military nurse. She’d served for 15 years before settling down with Nate and having Shaun. Being on the front lines gave the woman nerves of steel and a level head, and they’d served her well in this mess of a wasteland. Goodneighbor would be no exception.

Approaching a large fence in the middle of Boston, she saw the steady neon sign: _‘GOODNEIGHBOR.’_ Yelling echoed from somewhere inside the town.

“Seems inviting enough,” Evelyn teased her partner before making her way inside. 

* * *

Evelyn was certain from Nick’s attempts to warn her that she’d be getting into a fight here. 

What she didn’t expect was that it would be _as soon as she walked in the door._

“Unsavory was right,” she muttered under her breath as a bald man wearing road leathers stopped them. With a forced casualness, he lit up a cigarette and his beady eyes focused on Nick. “Well well, well,” he taunted, “it’s the detective. Tracking down another wayward husband to his mistress?”

Nick was never one to miss a chance for a harsh comeback, Evelyn noted appreciatively as he stared at the stranger with unfeeling golden eyes and retorted, “why? Someone stand you up?”

The bald man sneered. “You tryin’ that, uh… whad’ya call it? Evasive language on me?” His gaze turned on Evelyn now and he looked her up and down; but his eyes were analytical, as if he was sizing her up for a fight. “And who are you? Valentine’s new dick-in-training?”

* * *

“In an hour, then?”

“Yeah, when it gets dark. I think it’ll have more of an effect that way. You know I like to get the people all riled up.”

Fahrenheit’s lips curled into a half-grin. “I’ll start letting folks know, then. Did you —“

John Hancock put a hand up to silence the ginger-haired warrior when a cacophony of voices reached his ears. He was riding a Mentats high at the moment and the argument was harshing his mellow… who in the goddamn hell thought it was okay to start a fight right at the town entrance?

Coal-black eyes shifted over to see Finn — _why was he not surprised_ — bullying two people; one of them was a very familiar face. Nick Valentine. He hadn’t shown up here in a long time. Hancock was starting to wonder if he was dead; but then again, he doubted anyone could kill that clever son of a bitch. The other person, however... Hancock realized as he squinted at her that he had _no idea_ who she was. 

But goddamn was she gorgeous. She was muscled, with bronze skin and pitch-black hair that curled just under her chin; a scar came down the left side of her face, starting from her forehead and ending all the way down her cheek. Bright gray eyes, almost a luminescent silver in color, stared at Finn coolly as he harassed her, while impossibly red lips curled into a charming smile. She was everything he normally didn’t pursue; the exact opposite of what Hancock would consider his ‘type.’ But he found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

What was her story? Who the hell was she? And why was she here?

“And who are you? Valentine’s new dick-in-training?” Finn asked. 

“I’m going to be shoving my foot in your ass if you don’t stop with the attitude,” the woman responded kindly, that charming smile never wavering. 

“Don’t be like that,” Finn chided, taking a drag of his cigarette. “You just got the looks of someone who’s lookin’ for a little… _insurance.”_

Hancock frowned. He didn’t want to get involved in a meaningless argument (besides, this woman seemed like she could take care of herself, and Nick always had the right comeback for pushy idiots like Finn), but if he was going to pull _this_ bullshit again…

The woman quirked a brow. “Insurance, huh? Would this insurance, say, keep assholes like yourself away from me?”

Finn grunted. “I’m gonna make this simple, lady. You hand over everything you got in them pockets, or “accidents” start happenin’ to ya.”

“Accidents?” The woman furrowed her brows, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “What do you mean, accidents?”

Even Finn was getting tired of her antics. Hancock, having known him for years, guessed that Finn was pretty hard up on cash to be desperate enough to keep this up. Being the type to prefer easy money, he’d given up on difficult newcomers before. Finn was desperate. But Hancock didn’t like where this was headed; Goodneighbor was _of the people, for the people,_ whether they were newcomers or not, and Finn was fucking everything up. 

Finn sighed, putting out his cigarette after taking another drag. “Hand over your shit… or I’m gonna beat your ass to a bloody fuckin’ pulp.”

Nick’s eyes hardened and he reached for a weapon in his trench coat. The woman’s demeanor changed completely and immediately. Pulling a hunting knife from a pocket at her side, she put her fists up immediately, her gaze cold. “I’d like to see you try.”

Hancock had had enough. “Woah, woah, woah; time out,” he said, dismissing himself from Fahrenheit and sauntering over to the scene. His gait and expression were casual, even nonchalant, but anyone who knew the mayor at all could see the ice in his black eyes. “Nick Valentine here makes a rare visit to town… and you’re hassling his friend here with that extortion crap?”

Finn shifted uneasily. Newcomers, in his mind, were fair game — but he knew messing with Hancock was a bad idea. Hancock’s gaze moved to the synth detective and his expression lightened. “Good to see ya again, Nick.”

Nick’s mouth remained in a tight line, but recognition lit up his golden eyes. “Hancock.”

The ghoul’s attention returned to the culprit at-hand. Finn was flustered and thinking of a comeback, he could see it in the drifter’s face. Finally, he mustered, “what do you care? He ain’t one o’ us.”

Hancock sighed. “Finn, Finn, Finn.”

* * *

While Evelyn was annoyed, she couldn’t exactly be surprised at the situation. She had been warned about this very thing minutes ago and she’d decided to come in anyways. Perhaps she should listen to Nick more often —

— but then again, she could easily handle herself against this dirt-bag. When it came to long-distance combat, Evelyn didn’t measure up, but close-quarters? She was a firecracker, ready to explode. When his persuasion turned into a downright threat, Evelyn’s eyes narrowed angrily; seeing his hand itching for his own weapon, she made a quick decision and pulled out her knife. Enough was enough. She didn’t care if she got a few scratches along the way — she was taking him down. 

But it appeared she wouldn’t have to fight. When a figure of medium height interrupted their conversation, Evelyn squinted into the darkness of the nearby alley way and lowered her fists — but held her knife tightly just in case. When the owner of the raspy, authoritative voice stepped into the light, her eyes widened slightly.

He was a ghoul.

Evelyn had seen one or two ghouls before, but her interactions with them had been limited to ferals. This one seemed… _special,_ for lack of a better word. Swagger emanated from every pore as he joined the group, his footsteps slow and sure and full of intent. Underneath a patriot’s hat was a face full of scarred up skin, complete with a crooked smile and intense eyes, inky black in color all the way to the sclera. This man was dressed in a patriot’s uniform too; if she didn’t know any better, she’d think he was a character straight out of an American history book.

And with him being a ghoul, he was probably old enough to be a _living piece_ of American history.

Her breath caught. She didn’t know what to think, at first, and that realization alone caught her off guard. Evelyn was quick to form opinions, being very perceptive and observant; but with this ghoul… she wasn’t sure what to think. The ice in his eyes didn’t match the casual smile on his scarred lips. This man seemed to know Nick as they exchanged words; a cursory glance in the synth’s direction told Evelyn that he and the ghoul had a respect for one another but their friendship probably didn’t extend far beyond professional courtesy. 

The thug was getting nervous. “What do you care? He ain’t one o’ us.”

The ghoul sighed, shaking his head as if scolding a child. “Finn, Finn, Finn.” A step closer had Finn stepping back, looking like a predator that had suddenly become the prey. The raspy voice of the ghoul broke the silence once again. “No love for your mayor? I said… _let ‘em go.”_

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. So _this_ was the mayor Nick was trying to warn her about… she could see why, now. On the outside, Hancock, as Nick had called him, was cool as a cucumber; but danger radiated from his every pore. He wasn’t someone to trifle with. 

Finn was an unlucky man. 

Evelyn winced at Finn’s next words, spoken with desperation and anger: “y-you’re _soft,_ Hancock — you keep letting’ outsiders walk all over us, and one day there’s gonna be a _new_ mayor.”

So Finn _was_ as dumb as he looked; either that, or he simply figured he had nothing left to lose.

Hancock’s voice was nonchalant; playful, even. “Come on, man. This is _me_ we’re talking about.”

It all happened in the blink of an eye; Hancock was grabbing Finn’s shoulder under the pretense of friendship, all while pulling a switchblade from his pants pocket and plunging the weapon deep into the drifter’s gut repeatedly. One, two, three; Finn’s body fell to the ground to finish bleeding out. “You’re breakin’ my heart, Finn,” the mayor said with a raspy voice devoid of any regret as he crouched and wiped his blade on the thug’s jacket. 

When he rose to his feet, coal-colored hues turned their attention on Evelyn. “You alright, sister?”

Evelyn froze. There was something about the way he looked at her, something that made her mouth go dry. “Uh — yeah,” she finally managed, clumsily stowing away her hunting knife. In her peripheral she could see Nick’s eyes on her, confusion written all over his face. She couldn’t blame him. Being at a loss for her words was not something Evelyn was known for. 

Hancock’s brow-bone shifted upwards. “Well, good. Don’t let Finn’s stupidity here taint your view of our little community. Goodneighbor’s _of the people, for the people,_ ya feel me? Everyone’s welcome.”

_Of the people, for the people?_ How cheesy. She supposed it fit, though, considering the garish outfit he was wearing. This mayor seemed like the type to enjoy showing off, and from what she could tell, he certainly had the bite to back up his bark. “Of the people, for the people?” she arched a brow. “yeesh.”

Hancock chuckled; a raspy sound that seemed like it should have been grating, but was actually pleasing to the ears. “I can tell I’m gonna like you already. Listen; just consider this town your home away from home…” the ghoul put away his switchblade, dusting off his patriot’s coat and giving her a smug grin. “So long as you remember who’s in charge.”

Evelyn’s lips quirked into a half-smile, her voice taking on a teasing tone. “That’s you, right? Hancock?”

Hancock’s grin widened. “That’s _Mayor_ Hancock, Sister.”

* * *

It seemed like Goodneighbor’s only bar was the best place to start when looking for caps. Nick was again wary of her decision but didn’t think it was his place to correct her when this was her journey; he was just there to help. And while most of the synth’s reasoning for joining Evelyn was to help her find her son, a small part of him, that insatiably curious part, wanted to see what would happen. How this story would end. 

And furthermore, he wanted to see the Institute’s demise. If anyone could single-handedly take down the scariest group in the Commonwealth, it was Evelyn Pressley; besides being leader of several rising groups and being in charge of multiple settlements, all within six months or so of coming off the ice, he saw a fire in that woman’s eyes that he’d rarely ever seen in another. She would do anything, _anything_ to get her son back, and she didn’t have to say a word for Nick to know that. He could see it on her face.

So here he was, going down the steps into the Third Rail despite his better instincts telling him to leave Goodneighbor behind. A few hours prior, when that drifter met them at the door and tried to cause trouble, Nick knew their visit wouldn’t be a peaceful one. 

Nick settled himself into a comfortable corner to people watch and collect some data while Evelyn decided to work the room. First thing the detective figured out was that the only reason this place wasn’t the absolute pits was because of the beautiful woman in the red dress who was singing on stage. Her velvety voice could lure a sailor to his death, Nick thought as his eyes lingered on her. Magnolia, her name was, if he remembered correctly. She was an interesting character, but not a good person to ask for work. 

Evelyn made the right choice in heading to the bar. Nick watched as she spoke with the bartender, a rude little Mister Handy named Charlie. The arch of her brow and the sour look she quickly tried to hide brought a hint of a smile to the detective’s lips; as far as reactions to Charlie went, that was about the norm. 

About a half an hour in, Evelyn had had a few drinks and was getting bolder and more flirtatious with her requests; she certainly knew how to work a room, Nick had to admit. The quiet din of the bar was livened up by the entrance of several people; Hancock, his bodyguard Fahrenheit, and a couple other guards who had the rest of the night off. It was clear by their relaxed expressions they were here for pleasure, not business. 

Nick’s eyes went to Evelyn. He wondered how she’d react to this — he’d seen her change in demeanor upon meeting Hancock and wondered if his presence would affect her the same way. Not once since knowing the woman had Nick ever seen her stumble over her words like that. How a druggie ghoul like the mayor had such an effect on her, he had no idea… but he was curious.

Curious enough to sit back and watch without interfering.

* * *

While she’d received a few new admirers and even more new acquaintances, Evelyn had found very little in the way of obtaining work that didn’t seem shady. She was beginning to get desperate (and perhaps a tad tipsy) when she noticed quite a few citizens and drifters alike cheered or happily greeted the people who’d come in the door; turning her body on her bar stool to see what the commotion was about, Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat.

Among the people who’d come in was Hancock. The ghoul mayor who’d somehow managed to make her mouth go dry and her brain go static. He was an absolute stranger — and yet…

He broke off from the others, approaching the bar only a seat away from her and taking a drag from a small instrument that looked like an inhaler. Evelyn could tell it was Jet. Probably one of the numerous chems she’d seen in his office the day before when completing that small job he’d given her. He ordered his drink, and as he waited for it, his head turned in her direction and those dark eyes lit up with recognition. A wry smile quirked his scarred lips and he leaned on the bar casually. “Ah, my favorite little scout. You did good work at the Pickman Gallery.” Hancock paused, considering her. “You’re still around, eh? Guess you must like Goodneighbor pretty well, then, Sister.”

She wasn’t sure whether it was the setting, the alcohol, or her own desperation, but she found her voice was finally able to work. “Well the beer tastes like piss, but the folks are pretty nice here. So yeah, I guess I do.”

“The beer always tastes like piss,” Hancock agreed with a chuckle. Receiving his drink, he took a sip of it and smirked at her, offering her the glass. “You should try the whiskey instead.”

Evelyn eyed the drink with a mischievous grin before accepting it and taking a small swig. The liquor was strong, but it was smooth and didn’t burn as much going down as she initially thought it would. Setting the glass down and scooting it toward him, she uncrossed her legs to lean forward a bit on her stool, looking at him with intent gray eyes. “You’re right. The whiskey is much… _much_ better.”

Now she could see something she hadn’t before; _hesitancy._ He hadn’t been expecting that sort of forwardness, she supposed. Hancock blinked once before easily shifting right back into that charismatic nonchalance he seemed to be so good at. “Gotta be honest, I didn’t expect to see you again after you finished the job I gave ya,” he said. “But since we seem to keep finding each other — what’s your business here, Sister? Maybe I can point ya in the right direction.”

Evelyn’s mouth went dry again. There was something so earnest about his gaze; something that made her blood run hot. She opened her mouth to explain her situation — when a cough interrupted her. Gray eyes averted to a drifter standing before them, obviously half-drunk. Before she could question him, Evelyn felt him taking her hand and tugging her out of her seat, obviously for a dance… and she’d had just enough alcohol not to say no. She saw a few eyebrows raise as the singer on stage continued her song...

But what she didn’t see was Hancock’s eyes narrowing and his lips curling into a scowl as he watched them from his spot at the bar.

Even with a few drinks under her belt, Evelyn was a natural dancer. Being a part of the military gave her core strength, and she couldn’t begin to list the number of parties and events she’d had to go to when not on active duty. She’d learned nearly every type of dance there was, as was expected of a woman at the time. Look pretty, be graceful, take care of your home. Evelyn had always had trouble with the gender norms, but she’d actually enjoyed learning to dance. The song was over within a few minutes; the drifter had stumbled a few times, clearly intoxicated, but he was gentlemanly enough, (mostly) keeping his hands to himself. However — when she pulled away, there was a glint in his eye that told her wouldn’t leave well enough. And as she made her way back to the bar, he followed her, proving her suspicions correct. “Another?” the drifter asked her, grinning from ear to ear. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer, it seemed.

Evelyn gave the scraggly man a sweet smile, subconsciously moving over to where Hancock stood enjoying his drink; one glance at the ghoul told her that his eyes were on her, and probably had been the whole time. She wasn’t sure if that knowledge made her afraid or… excited. 

If anyone could get her away from this persistent drifter, though, it was him, right?

As Evelyn came to a stop right near Hancock, she continued smiling at the drifter. “I would love to dance again, Mister…?”

“Wolff,” he responded hungrily.

“Apt name, Mister Wolff,” she said charmingly. “I’d love to dance, but I promised our handsome mayor here a dance earlier on.”

A lie, yes — and hopefully the swanky ghoul next to her would play along. For emphasis, Evelyn boldly leaned into Hancock’s side, one hand moving up to his chest. She felt his body stiffen under her touch and for a split-second she thought he might pull away — but a glance up at his face told a different story. His dark eyes were filled with… _hunger_. When he broke his gaze from her and looked back at the drifter, that confident smirk returned to his lips. “She did, pal. I’d be sorry about it, too, but we both know I’d be lyin’.”

Something about it sent a thrill through her and her grip on him instinctively tightened. 

She wasn’t sure whether it was the way she held onto the ghoul, or the dangerous glint in his coal eyes, but the drifter seemed to get the message and trailed off to lick his wounds. Evelyn finally turned her gaze back up to Hancock and when their eyes met, something warm and electric seemed to shoot through them both; the same white-hot arrow piercing both their chests. Her breath caught and her eyes widened… and she saw that same awe reflected on his scarred face. 

Something was there. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it scared her. Evelyn moved to pull back, to thank him for his help and make a hasty retreat, but his hand caught hers and that confident grin was plastered back onto his face, as if he too had caught himself and quickly put his facade back into place. “We can't disappoint everyone, now can we?” His voice was playful, but underneath that she felt like there was a genuine question. “After all, you did ask ‘the handsome mayor’ to dance.”

She found it much harder to say yes to the ghoul before her than the drifter from earlier; perhaps it was because she _genuinely liked_ Hancock, and knew this dance, at least to her, would be more than simple courtesy. Evelyn didn’t know if the warmth in her spine was the alcohol or their close proximity; but finally she found her red lips curling into a sly smile. _Damn it._ “I did indeed,” she replied softly. “I wouldn’t want to dance with anyone else, Mayor Hancock.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said wolfishly, tugging her out to the dance floor once more. The singer on stage began singing to a slow, strong jazzy beat, but all Evelyn could focus on was the smooth way Hancock’s hand drew around her waist to pull her in close. Immediately she could tell that he may not have had a lot of experience with dancing, but the lithe ghoul had loads of natural talent. His body moved to the rhythm with ease and she followed his lead, one hand resting in his palm while the other sat comfortably on his shoulder. He wasn’t much taller than her, which the ravenette actually liked; many of her past partners, dance or romantic, were much taller than her and it actually often made things harder. 

But this? Possibly the best dance she’d ever had.

What was it she had come here to do again…?

Her eyes lifted to Hancock’s face when he spoke, his voice low. “You know my name but I don’t know yours, Sister. That seems a little unfair, don't ya think…?”

“You call it unfair, I call it having an advantage,” Evelyn replied coyly, lips quirking into a half grin. “Maybe if you save me from a few more drifters, I’ll tell you.”

He returned the grin as they moved in sync to the swanky beat. “You don’t seem like the typa gal that needs savin’.”

Evelyn’s grin widened. “You might be right.” When Hancock lifted his arm, she smoothly spun under it, their bodies coming back together a little closer than before. She could feel heat radiating off of him and it sent a shiver down her back, quaking under his fingers. “Or maybe I’ll have a few more drinks and it’ll...” bravely, the ravenette leaned in closer to the ghoul, so close that her lips brushed against the shell of his ear; her voice lowered into a whisper. “... just… slip.”

The shudder of his body was pleasing and sent a white flash of heat into her stomach. When Evelyn pulled back, she found Hancock’s coal black eyes to be filled with molten heat, heat that immediately made her insides turn liquid. Her hand on his shoulder slid inward to the side of his neck, before securing itself at the back of his neck, keeping him close. Her eyes, half-lidded and full of intent, watched his expression. “Unless you have any other ideas… Mayor Hancock.”

His voice suddenly went dark… almost hungry. “I can think of quite a few,” he rasped, a tongue darting out to wet his lips. Her eyes followed the motion, entranced. “If you’d like to hear them.”

Her whole body felt as if it was on fire and she was very aware of how low the hand on her waist had gone, now resting firmly on her hip. The movement of his hips, the warmth of his body, the intent in his eyes… Evelyn wasn’t sure she’d ever been so attracted to another human being in her life. She didn’t have time to think about it; on instinct, she murmured, “I’d rather you show me.”

His brow line furrowed and he sucked in a small breath, his body tensing against her. The electricity crackling between them was apparent now; Hancock leaned in, his face dangerously close to hers. She could feel his hot breath, could see the sparkle in his black eyes, could see the flush of his scarred skin. 

And suddenly the song ended, and her trance was broken. Everything from the outside world came tumbling in, as if this whole time she’d been in a blissful bubble that suddenly popped. Her mission, her reason for being here, _everything_ flooded her mind and she suddenly felt angry, mortified, nauseated. Not with him, with herself… for being so easily distracted. Her mouth went agape and she pulled from his body, now only attached to the ghoul by her hand that rested in his own, his arm extending to keep his grasp on her. Their hands lingered for just a moment before the woman turned and fled.

* * *

Nick had seen everything that went on. He could easily gauge when Evelyn was playing her part to get what she needed versus when she was genuinely interested in something or someone; and it seemed that she’d had a little too much to drink, because she let John Hancock of all people into her head. The synth had meant to warn her about the ghoul but hadn’t had a chance, and there she was, dancing with him. He could tell by both their expressions that they were in their own world, with nothing and no one else on their minds… it was worrying. He knew how Hancock could be and wasn’t sure the woman really knew what she was getting into — but he didn’t have to interrupt anything apparently, because suddenly the song was ending and Evelyn was fleeing the bar. Nick got up from his spot, tossed some coin onto the counter for Charlie, and took off after her. 

He found her outside, leaning against a wall trying to catch her breath. “You alright?” he asked, approaching the woman but giving her space. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he watched her carefully.

She looked… scared. It was an expression he’d never seen on Evelyn before; she was the type of woman to keep her composure no matter how grim the situation. Nick wasn’t sure what went on between her and Hancock when they danced, but it was obviously enough to shake her up. He waited patiently for her to speak. Finally she seemed to be able to calm herself, and she turned her back to the wall, sliding down it to sit tiredly. “I drank too much,” she groaned.

“Is that all?” Nick asked, knowing damn well that wasn’t the whole truth.

She was silent a moment, putting her face in her hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I danced with him. I don’t know why I _liked_ it.”

Nick pursed his lips. He felt the urge to light up a cigarette, but knew smoking it wouldn’t affect him the way he wanted. It was just his personality setting craving a smoke; but still his fingers itched for the lighter in his pocket. “I saw the whole thing,” he finally responded. “Looked like you two were getting pretty cozy. You sure that’s the kind of thing you want to get involved with right now? With everything going on?”

“No, _no,”_ Evelyn replied defensively. “I don’t. I… I don’t know why I did it.”

“Well, let’s just blame it on the alcohol,” Nick said with a hint of amusement, lending her a hand to help her up. She took it and he hauled her to her feet, slinging her arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get you some shut-eye. The morning will bring a fresh start and a fresh perspective.”


	2. Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG:
> 
> "Nervous," by Shawn Mendes.

> **_I get a little bit nervous around you;_ **   
>  **_Get a little bit stressed out when I think about you!_ **   
>  **_Get a little excited_ **   
>  **_Baby, when I think about you,_ **   
>  **_Talk a little too much around you —_ **   
>  **_Get a little self-conscious_ **   
>  **_When I think about you._ **   
>  **_Get a little excited ..._ **   
>  **_Baby, when I think about you!_ **   
> 

* * *

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” Nick said grimly as the pair stopped in front of the short hallway that led to Valentine’s Detective Agency. He peered at Evelyn, lips pursed. “I understand you need money and supplies if we’re going to go after Kellogg, and I know work has been pretty hard to come by, but… I didn’t like the look in that ghoul’s eye. I’m telling you; she’s  _ bad news.” _

The pair had come to Diamond City after Evelyn accepted a job offer from a ghoul in Goodneighbor named Bobbi No-Nose. She seemed sketchy, and Evelyn had taken the job simply out of desperation… but upon encountering mirelurks in the tunnel she was supposed to dig through, and losing the entirety of Bobbi’s hired crew to the creatures, Evelyn had been told to meet Bobbi in Diamond City to recruit a third person for the job, a person who supposedly would make the entire dig much simpler. Nick had decided to stop in at his agency to check on Ellie only to find that there were two new important cases that needed his attention; now, he was saying a temporary farewell to Evelyn.

And apparently giving advice she didn’t ask for. 

Evelyn gave Nick a small, reassuring smile, tinged with sadness. “I need caps, Nick. And she’s offering a  _ lot  _ of them. I can’t afford to let morality or dignity stand in my way… I need to find  _ Shaun.” _

Nick stared at her a moment, the gears literally turning in his head; finally, he gave her a short nod and reaching out a hand to shake. “Good luck to you, then. Come back and see me when you’re ready to confront Kellogg and get your son back. I’ll be waiting for you. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Evelyn.”

Evelyn took the extended hand, shaking it firmly. She knew it was just her mind playing tricks on her, but his fingers felt… _warm. Strong._ She hadn’t known Nick all that long, but he’d been a dependable and trustworthy friend. He’d helped her more already than anyone else in the Commonwealth. Her gray eyes glowed in appreciation, conveying gratitude where words wouldn’t suffice. “Thank you, Nick. I’ll be back.”

As she left the agency’s entry-way and made her way into the market square of Diamond City to meet up with Bobbi No-Nose and her other hire, Evelyn wondered what exactly they really were digging for underneath Goodneighbor. It must’ve been some old pre-war stash or something if Bobbi was promising that many caps. Evelyn wasn’t stupid; she knew very well that they could possibly be stealing from someone — but she was so desperate to continue her pursuit of Shaun’s kidnappers that she was willing to take the risk. She’d pay all dues and make all amends once Shaun was found; that much she could guarantee.

Evelyn found her mind wandering back to her first encounter in Goodneighbor, and the impression it had left on her; how the mayor swaggered his way onto the scene just a week ago and into her brain and couldn’t seem to find his way out.  _ After she’d gotten some shotgun shells at a shop right near the entrance, run by a friendly yet somewhat sassy ghoul named Daisy, Evelyn had gone looking for work and found herself standing in the middle of a crowd, looking up at a balcony on the second floor of a building in the center of the small community. _

_ On that balcony: Hancock, delivering a speech about sticking together as a community and warning the townspeople below about the Commonwealth’s bogeyman: the Institute. Evelyn had heard a lot about the Institute, and had even met a few synths (hell, one of them was currently helping her find her missing child); she didn’t see how synths themselves were evil — in fact, she’d heard many of the latest models were just like real people, with emotions and personalities and fears and dreams… they couldn’t all be bad, she’d decided.  _

_ But the Institute itself was a different story. _

_ Hancock’s speech was inspiring and roused the group on the ground into a cheer. “Of the people, for the people!” they all chanted as they went their separate ways; it seemed to be the town’s mantra and Evelyn figured she’d just have to get used to hearing it, however unoriginal it was.  _

_ The ravenette found her feet moving without direction and in a few minutes’ time she had made her way inside the Old State House without even realizing it. Gray eyes scanned the area for a particular face without even knowing they were doing so; up to the second floor the woman went, as if in a trance. _

_ The mayor of Goodneighbor had his back turned as he leaned over something on the table in front of him; nearby, in a corner of the room, a ginger-haired woman clad in raider armor stood guard. She eyed Evelyn suspiciously, but said nothing. Evelyn, on the other hand, wondered what the hell a raider was doing here as a mayor’s right hand — what the hell kind of town was this where raiders were hired by town leaders? She didn’t ponder or stare too long; her eyes wandered back over to Hancock, who had tipped his head back, still leaned over the table. _

_ “Aaaah, that hits the spot,” the ghoul rasped, finally turning around. He gave pause when he saw Evelyn standing there. “It’s you,” he greeted, a mischievous glint in his black eyes. “Where’s my old pal Nick?” _

_ “He had some business to take care of elsewhere,” Evelyn replied evasively. _

_ Hancock braced one hand on the table, leaning against it for support, while the other offered a rusted tin of Mentats to her. “How’s my humble little town treatin’ ya, Sister?” _

_ Evelyn bit her lip, eyeing the drugs; she didn’t take them often, because she knew very well the side effects of addiction, but his offer was sorely tempting. Finally she reached out for it; as she did, Hancock’s thumb deftly flipped the lid open to give her easier access. _

_ Grape. The flavor exploded on her tongue and she could feel the effects of the drugs almost immediately. Her shoulders relaxed, her body shuddered with relief, and tension drained from her face. “It’s, uh, good.” _

_ What the fuck was going on? Why did she keep tripping over her words like this? Why couldn’t she think of what to say? _

_ His lips quirked briefly. “What’s on your mind?” _

_ She cleared her throat, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. “Actually — I was… looking for work.” _

_ Hancock flipped the tin closed and set it down gingerly on the table behind him. His head cocked slightly and he peered at her for a moment. “Work, huh? … Hmmm.” _

_ Evelyn shifted uncomfortably as the silence drew on. The mayor hadn’t moved his coal-black eyes from her, not once, and she squirmed under his gaze. Why was he looking at her like that? And why did it make her stomach grow so tight? _

_ “I’ll tell you what. I got reconnaissance needs,” he finally said. Evelyn felt her stomach unclenching slightly as she hung on the mission details, desperate for anything to break her from this dizzying feeling. “Lotta weird talk comin’ in about a place called Pickman Gallery. It’s raider territory up there, but they’ve been… quiet. Like uncomfortable  _ post-coitus  _ quiet.” _

_ Evelyn snorted. “If post-coitus is that uncomfortable, you’re probably screwing the wrong people.” _

_ There it was. Her mojo. Encouraged by the sudden return of her witticism, she gave him a smirk. Hancock chuckled, matching her smirk with one of his own. “You got any suggestions, then?” _

Me.  _ That should have been her facetious comeback. Instead, she found herself squirming again. Goddamnit. “S-So, Pickman Gallery, huh?” _

_ Hancock’s transition back to business was smooth and immediate. His gaze was wry as he leaned off of the table. “Snoop the place out, find out what the hell’s going on. And I don’t mean just have a little look-see. I want details. Got it?” _

_ Thankful to be back on track, Evelyn nodded. “Scope Pickman Gallery. Got it.” As she turned to leave, a thought occurred to her and she turned back briefly. “How much money we talkin’?” _

_ Hancock was grinning like a Cheshire. “A job like this normally pays 200 caps… but I like you. So I’ll bump it up to 250. Sound good, Sister?” _

_ Evelyn flushed again. She could only manage a squirrelly nod before she made her way out of the building, desperate for fresh air. _

That job had been rather… interesting. Turned out the gallery was home to a serial killer — one she’d had to kill before she became the next victim. She’d been lucky to have Nick with her on that mission because he’d saved her ass more than once. 

Her exchange with Hancock after she’d given him the info she’d learned had been short and she wanted to keep it that way — the ghoul mayor of Goodneighbor had somehow gotten under her skin, and she didn’t like feeling so… vulnerable. But even as she’d left the Old State House in a hurry, his words had bounced around in her head:  _ “Hirin’ you was definitely one of my better moments. Spend the caps in good health, Sister.” _

As embarrassing as  _ that  _ encounter had been, it hadn’t been  _ nearly  _ as mortifying as their meeting in the bar the next evening… Dear God, just thinking about it sent a thrill up her spine, excitement mixed with anxiety and absolute embarrassment… after that night she hadn’t had the guts to speak to the ghoul again. She’d found her job with Bobbi and avoided the Old State House at all costs. Evelyn had wanted to leave Goodneighbor permanently, but Bobbi had promised an ass-load of caps  _ and  _ supplies. Nothing could compare to that, and that was perhaps the only thing that could get the ravenette to set food back in Goodneighbor. But as she approached the noodle stand in the market district of Diamond City, Evelyn couldn’t help but wonder what she’d gotten herself into.

* * *

“Super Mutants are gettin’ too friendly. I say we round up a few of our gunners and go thin ‘em out.”

Fahrenheit flicked her cigarette ashes irritably. “And lose half of the gunners with nothin’ to show for it? No, that won’t work. There’s no point in seeking them out.”

Hancock turned toward the ginger, Jet in his hand. He gave her a sour look. “So, what? We just turtle down? That’s not my style, Fahr.”

Fahrenheit leaned off the wall, eyes narrowing. “You know the only thing that  _ isn’t _ John Hancock’s style?  _ Losing.  _ When Super Mutants aren’t defending their homes, morale and focus are low. We castle up, wait for them to come to us, and…”

“... pick ‘em off one by one,” Hancock finished, a slow grin curling his lips as he warmed to the idea. “I like it.” 

Fahrenheit’s expression softened just a bit, but she still took an annoyed drag of her cigarette. “That woman’s been in your head. You’ve been distracted.”

Hancock hesitated, feeling his chest tighten. He knew exactly what the ginger was talking about, but maybe if he played dumb she’d leave well enough alone. “What woman?”

Fahrenheit gave him a flat look, flicking her cigarette ashes again like a horse flicking its tail in annoyance. “The one you danced with at the Rail? You don’t have to admit it, but it’s written all over your face. You like her.” She arched a brow. “And by the way, playing dumb doesn’t suit you.”

The ghoul’s eyes narrowed on his bodyguard and he turned away, slipping into one of the chairs in his makeshift office. “Nah. I’ve just been stressed out with all this extra mayor crap. I don’t feel like myself anymore.” He took a hit of the Jet and shuddered, closing his eyes briefly. Hancock rode his high for a few moments before one eye cracked open. “Besides… she ain’t my type. I’m into blondes.”

* * *

Mel, the other person Bobbi hired for the dig, had been exactly right in all his doubts, and Evelyn should’ve listened to him. She never should have done this. She shouldn’t have gotten involved with a shady character. She should have waited for honest work, like Nick said.

Bobbi had told them at the noodle stand that this was a Diamond City strongroom and that Mayor McDonough was its owner; someone Evelyn was more than happy to steal from. She was even more fired up for the job, knowing that that asshat was going to be funding her journey in search of her son, especially after refusing to help her find him. 

But she was wrong, and Bobbi had lied.

This was confirmed as Evelyn stared into the face of the ginger-haired raider woman who served as Mayor Hancock’s personal bodyguard. “Bobbi, what are you doing here…? You didn’t think Hancock would catch wind of your scheme?”

Bobbi sighed. “Well, shit.”

Evelyn didn’t have to ask questions to know she and Mel had been lied to. “Un… fucking… believable,” the ravenette muttered, stowing away her shotgun. She knew this wasn’t a fight she wanted to attempt. Talking her way out of this was the best option. 

Evelyn thought she’d be stealing from a bigot like McDonough, and that thought alone was enough to keep her doing this shady shit for Bobbi. But  _ Hancock… _

That dance came rushing back to the forefront of her mind;  _ the smell of his clothes, the look in his eyes, the heat of his skin... _

The bodyguard tilted her head slightly, staring down at them from her perch in the rafters. The minigun she carried glinted dangerously in the floodlights. “I guess you two were in the dark about this,” she surmised, looking between Evelyn and Mel.

“She told us it was a Diamond City strongroom,” Evelyn explained, feeling frustrated. Angry gray eyes landed on Bobbi. “Why the hell did you lie to us??”

“Why do you think?” Bobbi tightened her grip on her submachine gun, looking annoyed. “I knew no one in their right mind would help me rip off Hancock. Everyone is so damn  _ afraid  _ of him or so damn  _ in love  _ with him.”

Evelyn stiffened up. How many admirers did the mayor have? Ten? Twenty? The thought made her stomach tighten uncomfortably. But this was a serious matter and she couldn’t let her thoughts wander. Bobbi continued before Evelyn had a chance to speak, however. “Listen. I know I wasn't exactly honest, but there are still a ton of caps on the line. The three of us could easily take her out and split the profits.”

“Counter-offer,” the ginger woman interrupted. “You all walk right out of here and pretend this never happened. Bonus; you get to keep your lives.”

Evelyn looked between Bobbi and the raider woman, her lip curled in anger. “Why Hancock?” she demanded. 

Bobbi’s voice was snotty. From the way she was shaking, Evelyn could see this was personal for the ghoulette. “He thinks he’s invincible,” Bobbi growled. “I wanted to show him he  _ wasn’t.” _

Evelyn pursed her lips, running a hand through her hair. She needed the caps. She  _ needed  _ them. But… for some reason, she couldn’t seem to make her hands move to pull out her gun. “Bobbi… it’s over. If we leave now, we get to keep our lives. You know we’re outmatched here. What did you expect?”

“I thought you were more strong-willed than this,” the ghoulette hissed, before relenting and resentfully stowing her submachine gun away. She may have had a vendetta, she may have been certifiably crazy, but she wasn’t stupid. “ _ Fine _ . I give. Let’s get out of here.”

Mel breathed a sigh of relief, holstering his pistol and heading back the way they’d come. “Thank God. I don’t know why I trusted you again, Bobbi… but this is it for me. I’m done.”

“You’ll get over it,” Bobbi replied carelessly as she headed down into the tunnels once more, right behind Mel. Evelyn, for some reason, was rooted to the spot. She couldn’t seem to make her feet move; they felt like lead. 

The raider woman set down her minigun and made her way down to ground level, eyeing Evelyn with an analytical gaze. “You made the right choice.”

Evelyn finally tore her gaze away from the wall and made eye contact with the other woman. “I— … I  _ needed _ those caps, I… I don’t know why I turned them down.” Why? Why?  _ Why? _

Why did she refuse to help Bobbi? Shaun was out there somewhere, lost, and his own mother wasn’t strong enough to — … Evelyn swallowed down the bile rising in the back of her throat and choked out, “I-I’m sorry to have caused any trouble.”

The woman arched a brow. “The boss’ll understand. You didn’t know what you were doing.” A pause. “I’m Fahrenheit.”

“E-Evelyn.”

“Hancock will be pleased to know which side you chose,” Fahrenheit continued. “You should go pay your respects  _ in person.” _

Evelyn finally seemed to be able to pick up her feet; she shuffled uncomfortably, furrowing her brows at the taller woman. “In person? What do I do, say ‘Sorry for attempting to rob you mister mayor, hope you forgive me?’”

Fahrenheit’s eyes narrowed only slightly. “He’ll understand. It’s best to stay on his good side; trust me.” As she turned away, she glanced back as if her next comment was merely an afterthought: “besides, he likes you. He won’t admit it, but he’s been wondering when he’ll see you again.”


	3. Curious / The Guilty Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG LIST:
> 
> "Curious," by Holly Brook.
> 
> "The Guilty Party," by While She Sleeps.

> **_Someone tell me what to do,_ **   
>  **_I feel like I must be a fool_ **   
>  **_For ending up right back at the start._ **   
>  **_The things that we don't comprehend_ **   
>  **_Are laughing at my mind again;_ **   
>  **_I think that I think too hard_ **   
>  **_And I don't give enough credit to my heart..._ **
> 
> **_I'm so_ **   
>  **_Damn curious to know;_ **   
>  **_And there are too_ **   
>  **_Many unanswered questions_ **   
>  **_That we hold on to._ **

* * *

Caps. That was what Evelyn had come here for, and she was about to walk away nearly empty-handed. Surely there was something else available in area? Someone that needed a building cleared of ferals, or maybe had a Mirelurk problem in their basement?

She convinced herself that that was the reason she was currently heading toward the Old State House. She’d follow Fahrenheit’s advice, pay her ‘due respect’ to the mayor, and while she was at it, ask him about any potential  _ honest  _ jobs in the area that paid more than a handful of caps...

Yeah. That’s what it was. That’s  _ all  _ it was.

But if that was the case, why couldn’t she get Fahrenheit’s words out of her head?  _ “Besides, he likes you. He won’t admit it, but he’s been wondering when he’ll see you again.” _

Evelyn paused when her hand touched the doorknob to the run-down building. She didn’t  _ like  _ him, did she? Her dance with him in the Rail kept assaulting her mind when all she wanted to do was forget about it.

Or did she? Did she really? Was that what all this was? She was  _ infatuated  _ with Hancock? No… It couldn’t be. She had many, many reasons not to be infatuated with the mayor of Goodneighbor, foremost ones being the fact that she was  _ married,  _ and she was currently searching for her kidnapped son. 

But she was alone now. Nate was  _ dead.  _ Was she truly married anymore…?

Either way, she had a mission to accomplish. She had a child to save.  _ Her _ child. Shaun. She didn’t have time to think about romance — and besides; Hancock was a…  _ ghoul.  _ Evelyn was still getting used to the state of the world, ghouls included. Before the vault, everyone’s skin was as smooth as hers; now there were people walking around with horribly scarred skin, living proof of the damage of the war, of the bombs that rained down on the earth. It was strange. It should have been horrifying. But for some reason Evelyn still found herself drawn to him.

_ Curious. _

Her hand turned the knob, and she went inside.

* * *

He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, whole body rigid like a leopard about to pounce. Evelyn could feel his dark eyes on her the moment she came up the stairs, and they never once left her as she slowly made her way into the room. Once again, she couldn’t seem to read the mayor of Goodneighbor; whether he was pleased or pissed, she had no idea. Although Fahrenheit had told her that he liked her, his current enigmatic expression told her that that could very well be a lie.

“Well, if it isn’t my  _ favorite dance partner,”  _ Hancock greeted, unmoving except for a slight curve of his scarred lips. His tone could have been teasing, or condescending, or a little bit of both. Evelyn’s brows drew in and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other uneasily.

“Look, I —” she began, but she was interrupted by a wave of his hand. 

“Took a lot of guts, turnin’ on Bobbi like that,” he said. “Even more to convince her to give up. I’ve known her for years… when she sets her mind to somethin’, she gets it done. No exceptions. But a few words from you made her change her mind. What did you say to her?”

“Just... the truth,” Evelyn responded with a frown. 

Hancock snorted. When he leaned off the wall and unfolded his arms, he made his way over to a table and picked up a medium-sized cloth pouch. Turning, he chucked it at Evelyn. “This is for protecting my stash.”

The ravenette didn’t have to look inside the pouch to know what it contained: caps. She could feel them jingling merrily inside their container as she caught the bag. There had to have been at least three hundred in there… and three hundred would be enough to get her some much-needed ammo. Three hundred wasn’t enough, but it was a start. And it certainly wasn’t something he’d  _ had  _ to give her. Evelyn swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and pocketed the satchel of coins. “Thank you,” she managed. 

Hancock tilted his head, squinting at her; though it seemed his thoughts were turned inward, as if he was doing some self-reflection. Evelyn, still feeling confused about — well, everything — took that as her cue to leave and turned away. She took about two steps before his voice stopped her. “I think this fashionable little tricorn hat of mine is getting… heavy.”

She turned her head to look back at him, brows drawing in. He had more to say, it seemed, and he wanted her to be his audience. The ravenette lingered in the doorway, her gaze patient as he searched for the right words. Finally, it all came tumbling out. “I feel like I spend all my time nowadays puttin’ down people I would’ve been proud to scheme with just a few years ago. I’m not the same man I used to be. I’ve changed, and I don’t think it’s for the better. Am I… turning into  _ the man? Some sort of tyrant?” _

When he went silent, Evelyn waited patiently before giving her own thoughts on the matter. Quietly, she said, “You don’t seem like any tyrant I’ve ever met.”

Black eyes drifted up from the floor to focus on her. He was staring at her again… like he was taking off all her armor, her clothes, her  _ skin, _ and revealing every secret she ever kept. Maybe even secrets she kept from herself. She shuddered, about to say her goodbyes, when…

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. _

The noise was faint, as if it was coming from somewhere outside, possibly from the opposite side of the building, but it was unmistakable. The gunfire that suddenly echoed outside confirmed her suspicions, and the ravenette acted on impulse: she charged at Hancock, slammed him to the floor, and covered him with her body.  _ “What the  _ —” the ghoul began, rough hands grabbing her shoulders to throw her off, but he never had the chance to —

— because the opposite side of the State House exploded, wooden planks went everywhere, and the whole building began crashing down.  _ “Jesus H. Christ!”  _ Hancock shouted; as the floor beneath them began tilting, following the rest of the building to the ground, he wrapped two arms around Evelyn’s body and held her tightly to him to shield them both from the impending collapse.

And down they went. 

Wood, glass and debris covered them; very little light filtered in, distorting Evelyn’s vision as she slowly lifted her head from Hancock’s chest and attempted to analyze their surroundings. Gunfire and shouting surrounded them on all sides; amongst all the panicked voices, Evelyn could hear the unmistakable sound of Super Mutants. Her gaze moved to Hancock, who was spitting out splinters and squirming beneath her; after a quick assessment she could see he was okay other than a small cut on his forehead and various scrapes on his skin from the crash. It was clear from his expression that he was shocked and enraged.  _ “Super Mutants,”  _ he wheezed, one hand moving to attempt to remove the section of floorboards that covered them.  _ “Goddamn them.  _ Fuck — I can’t move it… it’s too heavy.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Evelyn said quietly, attempting to roll over. When she achieved success, her back pressed against Hancock’s chest and her legs began shifting to press her feet flat against the wood. In one giant push, she managed to kick the debris off of them — only to find that the air was filled with dust and there were at least four bodies surrounding them; some riddled with bullets, some crushed by wreckage. Still more people dropped like flies as the battle raged on.

Super Mutants had attacked Goodneighbor and had started the fight by sending a suicider right into the Old State House.

Evelyn scanned the area, keeping her head low to avoid any incoming fire; when Hancock tried to sit up to take a look, she shoved him back down onto the ground.  _ “Listen,  _ Sister,” he growled, eyes glinting dangerously, “normally I would have no complaints about being shoved onto my back by a gorgeous woman, but in case you haven’t noticed, my people are dyin’ out there. I’m the fucking  _ Mayor.  _ I have to help!”

Gray eyes narrowed on him, her expression grim. “You can’t help your people if you’re  _ dead,  _ mister Mayor.”

* * *

This was a fucking mess. 

Hancock didn’t have to see anything to know what was happening out there; Super Mutants were attacking, much earlier than Fahrenheit had predicted he might add, and his people were being slaughtered. 

When he tried to get up, to  _ help his people,  _ the woman shoved him back down. In any other situation he would have been incredibly turned on — but as it was, he was  _ furious.  _ But his threat only made her narrow her eyes on him. Staring up at her, Hancock saw something in her piercing gray hues —

_ Fire.  _ A rage, a survival instinct that bordered on bloodlust. She was speaking calmly, acting practically and with control, but he could clearly tell that this woman would rip the spine from someone if it meant she would survive. Something about it made his gut tighten, his whole body going rigid with — desire? Fear? Eagerness? 

_ Life. _

For the first time in a long time, Hancock felt  _ alive.  _

She finally tore her gaze from him and assessed the area, eventually loosening her grip on his collar. “Alright; they’ve focused their attention on the snipers on the next roof. We need to get ourselves out of here and get to a safe space so we can give out some orders, figure out what to do, and turn the tides of this battle.” 

“Leave it to me,” Hancock assured her, feeling his blood pumping already. His fingers were itching for the shotgun that was currently buried underneath him, digging into his back. “I know this town like the back of my hand. Follow my lead, Sister.”

“Evelyn,” the woman said, her gaze shifting back down to his face. Her red lips curled into a half-grin. “My name is Evelyn.”

_ Evelyn.  _ After all the trash she talked that night at the Rail, leaving him hanging without so much as a goodbye, he’d finally gotten her name… although Hancock couldn’t say he’d imagined that  _ this  _ was how he’d get it. He grinned back at her, fire in his eyes. “Well, Evelyn, let’s go kick the irradiated shit out of those ugly bastards.”

* * *

Hancock hadn’t been lying when he said he knew the town like the back of his hand. Following his lead, Evelyn had somehow managed to get up onto the roof of the Hotel Rexford without any encounters with the Super Mutants. The ghoul seemed to be as perceptive and intelligent as she was, if not moreso; as they got onto the roof, he took charge like the natural leader he was. “Daisy,” he said, setting a hand on the female ghoul’s shoulder and pulling some chems from his pocket. Offering her a syringe of Med-X, he said, “get downstairs and help gather folks inside the hotel. Fortify it. You’ve done enough up here. Tell KL-E-O to get to the front gates and seal ‘em up tight. If those stupid assholes wanna get in here, they’re gonna have to file in one by fucking one.”

“You got it, boss,” Daisy rasped, slinging her pipe rifle onto her back and leaving the rooftop. 

The rest of the shooters looked to Hancock for direction, and he began issuing orders with authority. “When those things come rampagin’ in here, you’re the first line of fire,” he said loudly. “I’m gonna be on the ground with a few others, pickin’ off the ones that make it past your bullets!”

The firing ceased; when Evelyn didn’t hear any more, she assumed that the rest of the Super Mutants inside the town had been taken care of. She saw the figure of KL-E-O, the Assaultron who ran the weapons shop at the entrance to Goodneighbor, fortifying the front gates quickly and efficiently. The tides were turning quickly due to Hancock’s firm leadership. When the ghoul prepared to leave the rooftop, Evelyn caught his sleeve. “It’d be wisest if you gave commands from up here… but I bet you know that.”

His black eyes glinted mischievously, but there was no humor on his lips. “If you think I’m just gonna sit back and let everyone else have all the fun, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“In that case,” Evelyn responded seriously, pulling a combat shotgun from her hip, “I’m coming with you.”

Hancock peered at her for a moment, as if waiting for her to change her mind, before gesturing for her to follow. As they exited the Rexford’s roof, the ghoul pulled his own sawed-off shotgun from its place on his hip and held it firmly in anticipation. 

When the Super Mutants came this time, they were ready. They began climbing over the walls or shooting from nearby buildings, and the snipers on the Rexford’s roof did well at taking most of them down; the few that made it to the ground were quickly put down by Hancock, Evelyn, and a couple of other gunners who seemed bloodthirsty, even eager for the fight. “Two more, coming from the front,” Evelyn said to Hancock, who had his back turned to help patch up a bullet wound. “I’ve got them — take cover!”

The two green brutes took cover near the ruins of the Old State House; one of them was firing at the folks up on the hotel’s roof, while the other was waiting for an opportunity to attack those on the ground with his melee weapon. Evelyn raced toward them, tucking and rolling behind the corner of a building to take cover when the fire focused on her. The mutant with the gun was pelting her with bullets from his rifle, and she couldn’t seem to find an opening to get close enough to hit them with her shotgun… this was bad. She didn’t expect the dumb creature to notice her when he was so focused on the gunners on the roof nearby. 

Suddenly a voice rang from inside Daisy’s Discounts; when Evelyn narrowed her eyes on the building, she could see Hancock waving his hands and shouting. “HEY, you big ugly son of a bitch! You want Goodneighbor in ruins? Why not start with the Mayor?! Or are you too fucking  _ stupid  _ to shoot me?? HUH?”

Evelyn grit her teeth. He was being incredibly brave but incredibly  _ dumb,  _ trying to use himself as a distraction — but it turned out that his stupidity was just what she needed. Suddenly the Super Mutant’s fire was aimed at the building, and Hancock threw himself behind a counter to dodge bullets.

_ WHAM. _

Evelyn was perceptive enough to move mostly out of the way just as the barb-wire wrapped bat swung at her, but the attack was still able to rip into her shoulder, tearing her clothing and leaving a nasty gash in her skin right above her shoulder-blade.  _ God,  _ it stung — but she barrel-rolled out of the way and lifted her shotgun up just in time to land a solid hit right in the creature’s stomach. He doubled over, groaning in pain, and she took the opportunity to land the second buck-shot right in his head.

Which splattered.

Wiping mutant blood from her cheek, the ravenette dashed forward, her body working on pure adrenaline, and reloaded while she ran. She fitted the second shell into the magazine loading port just as she reached the gun-toting Super Mutant and by the time he noticed her, she’d put both shells into his chest. He dropped to his knees, eyes glazed over, and she lifted the butt of her gun, slamming it into his face.

He fell.

When Evelyn retreated into Daisy’s Discounts, she found she was short of breath, her eyes were wide with rage, and she felt no more pain; but despite that, on instinct she took a syringe full of Psycho off the counter and jammed the needle into her leg, injecting herself with the drug. Distantly she heard a noise in her ringing ears; dully, she realized that it was her own animalistic yelling. All she knew now was rage; rage, and  _ power. _

_ Kill them. _

_ Kill them all. _

* * *

_ Goddamn  _ that was brilliant. He could see now that this woman’s expertise was in close-quarters combat, which was probably part of the reason she insisted on coming along with him. When she raced back to Daisy’s store where the rest of the ground fighters were recuperating, Hancock noticed that Evelyn had a nasty gash in her shoulder that was bleeding profusely. Pursing his lips, he reached for a med-kit to procure some bandages for the wound, but by the time he turned back to her she’d gone and stabbed herself with a syringe full of Psycho.

His mouth dropped open.

The raven-haired woman was now practically foaming at the mouth; maybe his brain was deceiving him, but did he detect literal  _ red  _ in her eyes? “Didn’t take ya for a  _ Psycho  _ kinda gal,” he muttered, but she didn’t even hear him. He knew better than to try and keep her still or calm at this point, but her shoulder was pretty concerning; if he didn’t staunch the bleeding soon, she’d begin to suffer from the blood-loss.  _ She  _ most likely didn’t feel a fucking thing, but  _ he  _ could see the damage clearly.

Before Hancock could force her down to wrap the wound, she was running right back out. Tossing aside the gauze, he grabbed his shotgun off the counter and followed her out; if she was going to keep going, the least he could do was watch her back. Besides, if anyone should be on the front lines defending Goodneighbor… it was the mayor.

“Goodneighbor is  **_of_ ** _ the fucking people,  _ **_for_ ** _ the fucking people!” _


	4. Eyelids / Ready to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG LIST:
> 
> "Eyelids," by PVRIS.
> 
> "Ready To Go," by Panic! at the Disco.

> **_You've got these little things  
>  That you've been running from;  
> You either love them or I guess you don't.  
> You're such a pretty thing  
> To be running from anyone,  
> A vision with nowhere to go.  
>   
> So tell me right now,  
> You think you're ready for it?  
> I wanna know  
> Why you got me going!  
> So let's go,  
> We'll take it out of here;  
> I think I'm ready to leap,  
> I'm ready to live,  
>   
> I'm ready to go!_ **

* * *

The rest of the battle was short-lived. Seeing that Goodneighbor wasn’t going down without a fight, the Super Mutants were (surprisingly) smart enough to finally back off. Only a few escaped, and Hancock quickly sent a few willing civilians to hunt them down. “No one messes with Goodneighbor and gets away with it,” he growled, and they all yelled their agreement, setting off with their weapons and lusting for mutant blood.

As he looked at his surroundings, the ghoul sighed miserably. This was a  _ goddamn mess.  _ Perhaps if he hadn’t concerned himself so much with the damn politics of being mayor, he would have been better equipped for a surprise attack… Fahrenheit would tell him that he couldn’t have seen this coming, and that he did his best to defend the town, but Hancock still felt immense guilt. He was supposed to serve the people. No one in power should be too comfortable for too long.

And he was.

And this happened.

A familiar voice broke him from his dark thoughts. “Well, we won.”

Hancock turned to focus on Fahrenheit, who was covered in dirt and blood and who-knows what else. Ashmaker sat comfortably in her hands, the muzzle still hot from extended use. A frown curled his scarred lips. “At what cost?”

“Victory requires sacrifice,” she answered straight-forwardly. “You of all people should know that.”

“You’re right.” The ghoul sighed again and looked out at the destruction around him. “We won. I should be happy about it.” Finally he turned his eyes back to her. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Protecting your strong room,” was her grim response. “Somehow… the mutants found its location, too. You don’t think…?”

Hancock’s eyes narrowed into slits. Rage pulsed in his temples, tightened his chest. “If I find out Bobbi No-Nose was behind this…”

“We’ll figure it out,” Fahrenheit responded. “What are the orders, Hancock? What do you want me to do?”

“For now, just start fishing out any salvage from the… Old State House. Oh, God.” Hancock ran a hand over his chin, trying to keep calm. “It’s fucking  _ gone. I…  _ just…” It took a deep breath and a brief moment of silence to bring himself down from his heightened grief. “Salvage anything you can. Chems, caps, supplies, anything.” Fahrenheit nodded and turned to leave. 

Hancock called after her: “I’m glad you’re okay.”

She glanced back at him, a hint of a smile on her lips, before leaving the scene and setting to work.

Heading back over to Daisy’s, Hancock found a couple of the ground fighters nursing non-lethal wounds; sitting on the floor and leaning back against a counter was Evelyn, with her eyes glazed over. She was very clearly attempting to fight unconsciousness, and it was a losing battle. He made his way over to her, and by the time he crouched in front of her, she had blacked out. The Psycho was leaving her system, and so was the adrenaline. She needed rest, and she needed to be patched up. 

After all she’d just done to defend Goodneighbor, the very least he could do was help her out.

Hancock began giving out orders to the survivors; pile the Super Mutant bodies in one area to be burned, and as for citizens of the town, put them on a tarp for their bodies to be claimed by any loved ones. If they weren’t claimed in an hour, they’d be burned separately and Hancock would speak a few words on their behalf. It was the least he could do; the Commonwealth was a cold and cruel place, but there were a few good people in it that were willing to put their own lives at risk to make it better.

The unconscious woman resting in Daisy’s being one of them.

After everyone had been assigned a job, the ghoul once again approached Evelyn’s body and lifted her into his arms; then he began the trek over to the Hotel Rexford, where other injured were being taken to rest and heal up. He requested a private room from Clair and she gave him the key to the penthouse — he took the woman there, setting her down gently on the large bed on the left side of the large room. He found a med-kit and a chem stash in the bathroom (Hancock frequently rented out the penthouse for going on weekend benders) and brought them all over to the bed-side table. Taking her by the shoulder, he rolled her halfway over to examine the gash above her shoulder-blade; looking at the extent of the wound, his eyes narrowed grimly. It would definitely need to be stitched, and would leave a scar after it healed. For now, he simply covered the area with several thick medicated pads to stop the bleeding, and let her rest.

Exhausted, Hancock settled into a high-backed, comfortable chair in the corner of the room and watched her sleep, his own eyes feeling heavy. He found his gaze lingering on her longer than it should’ve, and the thought disturbed him.  _ She wasn’t his type.  _ That was what he told Fahrenheit, right? He preferred small, thin blondes — like Irma from the Memory Den. Just thinking of her brought back a whole slew of good memories. He’d bedded her plenty of times, and had always gotten a good review. Yeah, blondes…  _ he preferred blondes. _

But as he took a few Mentats and leaned his head back to sleep, it was the muscled, shapely visage of a raven-haired woman that danced around behind his eyelids. 

* * *

When Evelyn awoke, pain sliced through her shoulder, spreading all the way down her arm to her fingertips. She let out a groan of discomfort before she could stop herself. Trying to clear her fuzzy vision and assess all her faculties, she realized she was in a hotel room of some sort — in a very large bed — and there was some sort of wet patch on her wound. The pain ebbed but was still present; this made sitting up slow and irritating. 

Sharp gray eyes scanned the room and found nothing amiss; the only other things present other than the gaudy decorations were a multitude of chems on the bedside table next to her… and a sleeping figure sitting in a large chair across the room. Looking at the clothing, she could immediately tell it was Mayor Hancock. Had he brought her here? Didn’t he have more important things to do?

Then the events from the previous day came to the front of her mind. _Oh, right._ The super mutants had attacked the town and destroyed the Old State House. It was only due to sheer luck that she and Hancock had survived that. Evelyn recalled the rooftop shooters and Hancock’s plan to fortify the walls and take out any stragglers on the ground, and that was how the ravenette had injured her shoulder. She suddenly remembered stabbing herself with a syringe full of Psycho, but everything after that was just a big red blur. 

Swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, she took a deep breath to quell the nausea turning her stomach and stood up shakily. She needed to get out of here, earn some more caps, and get the hell back on track. The longer she took finding her son, the greater the chance that she never  _ would  _ find him. A brief glance at the chems on the table had her hand stretching toward them; but she faltered. She’d never been a thief — was she really going to start now?

_ No.  _ Evelyn turned away and began quietly shuffling toward the door.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

_ Hancock.  _ His voice was slow and somehow even raspier than usual, and the mere sound of it sent a pleasant but unwanted jolt of heat straight down her spine. She halted and turned her head to glance back at him expectantly, only to find him still lounging in that chair in the same position, with one dark eye cracked open and watching her. She recognized that look — the question was, Mentats or Jet? “Are you high?” she asked softly, slightly amused.

“As a kite,” he answered smugly. “But nevermind me —  _ you  _ shouldn’t be leavin’ until your shoulder’s been stitched up. It’s pretty bad.”

Evelyn pursed her lips. She didn’t need his assessment to know her shoulder wasn’t in good shape; she was a goddamn  _ nurse.  _ Frankly, she just wanted to get out of here and get back to her mission. Wait till she got to one of her settlements to get it looked at. But… who the hell else would be able to stitch this thing up before it got infected? Sanctuary — and all of her allies living in it — was days away. 

It was with great reluctance that she turned away from the door and perched herself on the bed. Meanwhile, Hancock had stood up from his chair, stretched his limbs, and went over to the med-kit laying on the bedside table. Taking it and opening it up, he sat down next to her and began pulling out needle and thread, sterilizing the needle with a lighter from his pocket and threading it expertly. Despite this, Evelyn couldn’t help but demand, “do you know what you’re doing?”

“Don’t insult me,” he answered sharply, giving her a reprimanding glance. She felt that flutter again, and chose to ignore it, simply turning her back to him and unzipping the combat uniform she always wore. Peeling the stretchy but thick material down over her torso, she bared her shoulders and chest area. The only thing covering her upper half now was a plain white bra. Suddenly she felt… nervous. Self-conscious, even. Evelyn was no stranger to nudity — she was a nurse for crying out loud — but for some reason the thought of  _ Hancock  _ seeing so much of her bare skin sent her heart into a panicked frenzy, thudding heavily in her chest. Was it what Fahrenheit said to her that was getting her so worked up? Or maybe it was just her own anxiety? Evelyn  _ still  _ hadn’t figured out why a drugged-up ghoul of all people had such an effect on her, and perhaps she never would. Something in her gut told her that there was much more to Hancock than meets the eye, and that gut feeling was what mysteriously drew her towards him. Her only saving grace was that once she was out of Goodneighbor, she’d never have to worry about it again. He’d be out of her hair, out of her heart, and out of her life, and she could focus on finding Shaun.

A hand met her shoulder, pressing firmly on it, and the touch was so electric that she didn’t even feel the stitching needle pierce her skin.  _ That dance.  _ His touch was the same; the feeling of his hands on her again sent a thrill through her and she couldn’t seem to shake it, couldn’t seem to shake the memories of that night flooding her mind. A gasp came from her before she could cut it off, but she bit her lip hard to hold any other sounds back.

“You alright, Sister?” he asked from behind her.

She could only muster a nod. Evelyn kept her gaze rigidly on a spot on the wall in front of her as the ghoul worked; she could tell just from feeling it that he was doing a pretty damn good job. He was no professional, of course, but she was certain that he had some experience. His voice broke her from her thoughts, and he asked something that threw her off-guard.

“We gonna talk about that dance, or what?”

Evelyn’s face immediately flushed and she flinched, causing the stitches to pull slightly. Pain bloomed in her shoulder and she locked her jaw. “I-I, uhm… I-I don’t know. I just figured that was another normal night for you,” she muttered. 

She heard a raspy chuckle from behind her. “Dancing with a statuesque goddess who also happens to be a complete stranger isn’t exactly my definition of a normal night.”

Warmth spread where the pain ebbed. Goosebumps suddenly covered her bare flesh and the raven-haired woman had trouble breathing for a moment; sucking air desperately into her lungs, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “ _ Statuesque goddess,  _ eh...?”

Hancock paused in his work and dark eyes flickered up to meet her gaze, stealing her breath away.  _ That intensity again…  _ like he was looking right through her skin… his voice went low, sending a shiver up her spine. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Evelyn let out a shaky breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding and broke their eye contact, fixing her gaze on the wall again. Hancock resumed his work shortly after, going quiet for just a minute before it tiny her with another zinger.

“Why are you really here? I know my humble little town is a treasure, but I can tell you’re not just some drifter lookin’ for caps. You’ve got an…  _ urgency  _ about you. There’s some sort of mission you’re on that means more than your life. That’s why you left the Rail so quickly that night, isn’t it? So spill it.”

She took a deep breath. Something about his earnest voice broke her resolve. “I’m… I'm looking for someone. My son.” Her hands clenched into fists. “He was kidnapped; and I don’t know where he’s gone.”

“ _ Goddamn.  _ Unfortunately, kidnappings aren’t uncommon out here.” Hancock muttered grimly, still working. “Fucking Institute has been behind most of the kidnappings around here… ya think that’s who took your son?”

Evelyn’s hands were still clenched, and now her teeth were too. His voice was tight. “I  _ know  _ that’s who did it.”

“Hmmm.” He didn’t say it, but she knew what he was probably thinking:  _ good luck.  _ That was always the response she got when she mentioned the Institute’s involvement. “So that’s why my old pal Nick was with ya the day you came into town.”

Evelyn nodded quietly. “He was kind enough to take my case.”

“Good ol’ Nick.” He paused. “I’m gonna make another observation here. You seem…  _ different.  _ There’s somethin’ about you, I can’t tell what, but I know one thing for sure — you’re not from this era, the here and now. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. So tell me; how old  _ are  _ you, exactly?”

The change of topic was refreshing. Evelyn glanced back, eyes twinkling. A hint of a smile curled her red lips. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask a lady her age…?”

His lips quirked into a grin, eyes flickering between her face and his work. “Well, consider me curious enough to take the risk.”

Evelyn turned her head back, gaze returning to the spot on the wall. The wallpaper was peeling, and outright torn in some places, but it reminded her of the time before the bombs. A better time. “Well, I’m about as old as you, I’d think,” she replied quaintly.

A short chuckle left the ghoul. “Oh, you got me all wrong, Sister,” Hancock responded. “I ain’t one o’ them pre-war ghouls. This beautiful complexion — it ain’t from bomb radiation.”

Evelyn’s brows rose. She’d been told that ghouls were the way they were because they’d been exposed to the radiation that the atomic bombs gave off when everything went to hell. She just assumed that was the case for all of them — so what was  _ his  _ story? “So — how…?”

“Hey, I’m the one askin’ the questions here,” he interrupted with a smirk. “How the hell did you survive the bombs and still have skin smooth as cream?”

A shudder ran through her at the compliment and she fought to keep heat from rising to her cheeks. After shaking off the initial embarrassment, Evelyn found herself explaining her story, tensing up more with each word. The vault — the cryogenic pods — Nate’s murder, Shaun’s kidnapping —  _ all of it.  _ And by the time she’d finished, she was gritting her teeth, clenching her fists, and a few tears had stained her cheeks. Hancock said nothing, only listened; finally, she felt him tying off the stitches he’d made, and he used his teeth to clip the thread. “There,” he said softly. “That should do it.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn replied quietly, blinking back the rest of her tears and slowly working her way back into her suit. Standing up, she felt pain race down her shoulder and she grit her teeth to keep her discomfort in the back of her throat. 

“Here,” Hancock offered, standing up and moving around her toward the bed-side table. Taking a Stimpak, he firmly put it in her hand. “It’ll take the edge off. You put up a helluva fight out there, Evelyn. I just wanna say thank you for helping defend Goodneighbor. Ya didn’t have to stick around, but ya did. A lotta good people were spared today ‘cause of your help.”

Evelyn stood up and stared at the syringe he’d given her for a long moment. She finally pulled off the safety cap and stuck it into her shoulder, wincing and pressing down on the stopper. As the chemicals entered her bloodstream, she could feel an overwhelming relief race through her veins like cool spring water, and the sensation was such a shock that she stumbled forward — right into Hancock. 

Deceptively strong arms wrapped around her securely. He was safe, he was  _ warm.  _ “I-I’m sorry,” she muttered, grasping his shoulders for balance and slowly lifting her head. When she met his gaze, her mouth went dry and the air was pulled from her lungs; she felt like a deer in headlights, all fear and anxiety and  _ excitement.  _ Their connection was just as intense as it had been that night in the Third Rail.

“You alright there, Sister?” Hancock asked, his voice taking on a low tone; perhaps steady… perhaps sensual. She could almost imagine that they were dancing again, with bold jazz playing in the background… His coal-colored orbs never wavered, never once left her own hues as he locked eyes with her. 

Her grip on his shoulders tightened instinctively as she stared up at him. “I have to go,” Evelyn finally managed to whisper.

Hancock’s lips twitched. “About that.”

Her brows furrowed immediately. His change in tone didn’t settle well with her. His next words certainly didn’t. 

“I’m comin’ with you.”


	5. Heart-On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG LIST:
> 
> "Heart-On," by Celldweller.

> **_I’ve fought a monster a mile high,  
>  Arm wrestled twenty octopi.  
> I had a sword fight with a samurai,  
> And sang the sirens a lullaby;  
> I’ve pinned my heart to my sleeve  
> So that the whole world can see...  
> I have a heart on for you!  
>   
> Well I’m not sure now what's left to do  
> Or if my actions are loud and clear to you;  
> So I guess that I’m just trying to say..._ **

* * *

_ How the hell had this happened? _

Evelyn was currently on her way to Back Street Apparel… and a certain ghoul was walking along casually beside her. She couldn’t quite remember exactly  _ how  _ he’d convinced her to let him tag along, but here he was. 

_ Upon making his decision to come with her, Hancock had made a rousing and inspirational speech to the citizens of Goodneighbor, leaving them with hope rather than fear. Evelyn’s biggest concern was his decision to leave after the town had been attacked by Super Mutants, but she had to give it to the people of Goodneighbor — they’d begun clean-up very quickly and by the time she and Hancock left the next day, bodies had all been sorted and disposed of, the rubble of the Old State House had been mostly cleared, and everything was back to normal. When she’d commented on it, Hancock only grinned smugly. “These folks may not look like much, but they’re some of the strongest, most reliable people in the Commonwealth. And Fahrenheit knows how to run things.” _

_ “You don’t seem too worried about leaving,” she replied. _

_ “Nah. Besides, I don’t have to be ‘in-office’ to be the Mayor. I told you earlier; I need to get back out on the road again. I’ve gotten too comfortable, and it caused shit like this to happen.” _

_ Evelyn frowned. “You can’t blame yourself for the attack on Goodneighbor. It was completely random.” _

_ Hancock pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly.  _ “About that.”

_ Evelyn threw her hands up. That damned phrase was already becoming associated with bad news.  _ “What now??”

_ “You need to find your son, right? I’ll gladly help. I’ve got caps, I’ve got supplies, and I’ve got your back. But… I have one thing that needs to be done.” The ghoul peered down at her intently; she could tell by his expression that he wouldn’t be taking ‘no’ for an answer. “Remember your old pal Bobbi?” _

_ Evelyn’s lips curled into a scowl as she caught on. “... she couldn’t be.” _

_ “Oh, we think she is,” Hancock said firmly, his eyes glinting dangerously, “and we’re gonna hunt her down. Her head is comin’ off if it’s the last thing I do. She can’t fuck with Goodneighbor and get away with it.” _

_ Evelyn nodded firmly. That was one thing she could certainly get behind him on; thieving from the rich was one thing, but involving innocent lives was too far. “That bitch is going to get what’s coming to her.” _

_ “That’s what I like to hear,” Hancock responded proudly. “Now let’s get this show on the road.”  _

And here they were. An hour or two of travel (with surprisingly few snags except for the occasional mole rat or stray raider), the pair arrived near an ugly green building right in the thick of town; as Evelyn grabbed her combat shotgun from her hip and reached for the door, Hancock caught her arm firmly. Her brows furrowed and she shot him a look that demanded to know what the hell he was doing, but he only met that look with a grim smile. “You should know by now that our friend Bobbi isn’t the type to get her hands dirty,” he reminded her. “She’s gonna have people guardin’ this place. We’re gonna have a fight on our hands.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Evelyn growled, moving back for the door, but Hancock’s grip held firm. 

His gaze was reprimanding now. “Don’t ya think it’s smarter to go in with some sort of… I don’t know,  _ plan?” _

Evelyn’s bright gray eyes narrowed on him. “My  _ plan _ is to kill every single bastard in this store, then give Bobbi every ounce of pain that she deserves.”

Something about her fierce resolution fired up the ghoul, and his lips quirked into an animal grin. He let her go, pulling his own shotgun from his belt and loaded a shell into the chamber by pumping the fore-end. “Then I’ve got your back, Sister.”

With a resolute nod, Evelyn turned the door knob, and they snuck inside.

* * *

Bobbi’s betrayal (proven or not) had been in the forefront of Hancock’s mind ever since his conversation with Fahrenheit about the whole thing; but another thing — or person, he should say — that kept swimming around in his head was  _ her. _

Evelyn.

He couldn’t lie, not even to himself. He was infatuated. He was infatuated with the smooth-skinned vault dweller who was over quadruple his age; the woman with the piercing gray eyes and the affinity for Psycho chems; the woman who got herself a nasty injury trying to defend a town she had no obligation to.

The woman who was brave and kind yet took absolutely no shit.

The woman who seemed to be  _ nervous _ around him, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out  _ why. _ Stumbling over her words certainly didn’t seem to be a normal part of Evelyn’s character. Hancock was no stranger to folks being either intimidated by him or infatuated with him (having boat loads of natural charm seemed to have that effect on people); but what he couldn’t seem to grasp was why a woman like  _ her  _ was nervous. 

He supposed he’d have to ponder on it more later; cause suddenly she was opening the door and they were sneaking inside the store. The area they stepped into had a long rectangular counter with registers on it, and every corner of the room had ruined shelves and display cases that, at some point long before, had clothing and accessories lining them. Hancock and Evelyn ducked behind a counter upon seeing two guards at a door on the other side of the long room; glancing over at him, she pursed her lips. “I’m not much of a sharp-shooter,” she whispered.

“Neither am I,” he replied, eyes narrowed. “Whaddaya say I distract ‘em while you move in for the kill? Worked pretty well on the Super Mutants.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. Clearly using the Psycho left her memory of the event in tatters. It was kinda charming, the fact that she’d hulked out so much she couldn’t even remember the fight. His lips quirked into a grin. “Just trust me.”

She opened her mouth to respond but he was already clipping his weapon onto his belt and getting to his feet, lifting his hands in surrender. The two guards at the back door tensed up and lifted their weapons, but Hancock shook his head as he approached. “No need for that, fellas. Bobbi knows me.”

“Yeah, she knows ya,” one of them answered gruffly, “and she’s paid us a lotta money to keep you out.”

“You sure you wanna mess with the beloved mayor of Goodneighbor? I don’t think any amount of caps is worth that kinda risk, do you?”

The men glanced at each other, but kept their weapons lifted. “We have our orders,  _ Mayor Hancock.” _

Hancock’s easy expression didn’t flinch, but inwardly he was growing a little frustrated. He thought he might be able to just convince these hired guns to step aside, but that was looking to be unlikely. He only hoped his partner was making her way around for a sneak attack…

* * *

“Whaddaya say I distract ‘em while you move in for the kill? Worked pretty well on the Super Mutants.”

She squinted.  _ What the hell was he going on about?  _ She had the vague memory that Super Mutants had attacked Goodneighbor, and that she and Hancock and the citizens of the town had all helped defend it, but —  _ ah.  _ It must’ve happened after she’d injected herself with Psycho. Everything that had happened between the injection and her waking up was a giant blur. Before she could protest, however, the ghoul was confidently getting to his feet and swaggering his way over to the guards.  _ Good Lord.  _ Well, she was nothing if not adaptable, so she began crawling her way to the other side of the shelf and shuffling over to the register counters in the middle of the room. She’d go around the right side and flank them while Hancock kept them distracted. This was what she deserved for going in without a plan, she supposed.

Evelyn overheard the conversation going on as she quickly and quietly snuck around the side of the rectangular counters, being careful not to step on any noisy debris. Hancock’s comments caused her to roll her eyes. He really could be full of absolute  _ bullshit; _ but honestly, it was working in their favor for the moment so she really couldn’t complain. 

“We have our orders,  _ Mayor Hancock,”  _ one of the guards finally replied, voice dripping with derision. It was clear they weren’t budging, so now all her partner could do was stall for time.

And stall he did. “Guys, come on —” Peeking over the counter, Evelyn could see the ghoul raise his hands in a defensive shrug. “ — do you really think Bobbi calls all the shots around here? How about this: you join my crew, work for me in Goodneighbor, and I’ll double whatever that two-timin’ sleeze is payin’ you.”

Evelyn had to admit, he really was convincing. That confidence was  _ something else.  _ Was it part of the reason she was so attracted to him? The reason she couldn’t seem to get mind off of him, even with more important matters at hand?  _ Ugh, here she went again.  _ Shaking herself out of it, the ravenette focused on the task before her and made her way up to one of the back counters, inching closer and closer to the corner she’d had to turn in order to take the guards out. From here it would be a shit-show; they would lose the element of surprise and would have to just barrel their way through the building to get to Bobbi. Hopefully the two-faced bitch wasn’t rich enough to hire too many guards.

Reaching into one of her deep pockets, she pulled out a syringe with a yellow nozzle and brown casing.

Psycho.

Psycho seemed to be Evelyn’s go-to when she was surrounded or facing unfair odds; did she really need it for this situation? And what would her new partner think, seeing her shoot up for a second time in the span of only a few days? A quick glance over at the ghoul, who was still shit-talking to the guards, stole her breath away. She had to reel herself back in, break her gaze from him, and make her decision. Wasn’t he high off his ass when she’d woken up in the hotel room? After a moment’s thought, Evelyn decided Hancock didn’t seem like the type to judge or care if she used chems.

_ Fuck it. _

She jabbed the needle into her leg, and felt the white-hot rage take over.

* * *

_ Jesus H. Christ.  _

One minute Hancock was trying to stall for time to give his partner a chance to flank these bastards from the side, the next minute she was charging at them with fury in her eyes like Grognak the goddamn Barbarian. He recognized the look on her face — the red in her eyes, the almost animalistic expression; considering himself a chem connoisseur of sorts, Hancock knew the symptoms of Psycho like the back of his hand. So she’d shot up damage chems twice in a matter of a couple of days without even thinking twice?

_ Nice. _

Hancock lithely dipped backwards to get the hell out of her way, pulling his shotgun from his belt just in case — but by the time he’d lifted it to pull the trigger, Evelyn had splattered both their brains across the wall and threw herself through the door they’d been guarding. “Hey —!” he protested, chasing after her. Psycho was a dangerous chem; it gave one damage resistance and a boost of extra strength, but all caution and logical decision-making skills were thrown out the window. And he knew that if he tried to hold her back, she’d end up knocking him the fuck out, too. All Hancock could really do at this point was hop on for the ride and hope she didn’t lead them both straight to hell.

On the other side of the door, a short hallway dotted with other doors veered off to the left after about fifteen feet. Hancock couldn’t be sure where Bobbi was, but he doubted she’d be anywhere other than the very rear of the store, where it was safest; he was about to suggest they go straight for the female ghoul rather than wasting their time with anyone else, but Evelyn was a death hound and chased the smell of blood and sweat, regardless of who it belonged to. She began going into every room and clearing them out; it was a bloodbath, and a small part of Hancock hated it… but these assholes had made their choice. If they were willing to work for a piece of shit like Bobbi, then they got what was coming to them. He followed along beside the ravenette, watching her back and taking down a few of the hired guns himself; and before they knew it, most of the place had been cleared out. After a seemingly endless set of stairs up to the third floor, the pair entered a room with their guns lifted to find Bobbi standing in the corner, a cigarette in one hand and a .45 in the other. 

Evelyn stopped short, staring at the female ghoul rather than charging mindlessly. So there  _ was  _ some semblance of control there… Hancock had to admit he was extremely grateful for it. Although he wanted Bobbi dead in the most gruesome way possible, he did want to actually speak to her first… to let her know who was putting the bullet between her eyes.

“Well look what the cat dragged in,” Bobbi rasped, her lip quirking into a humorless smile. “I was wondering when you’d grow a brain and come find me. Looks like I should have hired better security.”

“You’re a monster,” Evelyn growled, her voice much rougher than normal, almost animalistic in tone.

Hancock stepped forward, still keeping his shotgun pointed at her. “You’re going to die for what you’ve done, you greasy bitch.”

Bobbi snorted. “You mean pointing the Super Mutants in the direction of your little stash? You’ve got enough chems in your pocket to hotbox a whole settlement. What harm is a tiny dent in your supply gonna do, Hancock?”

Hancock’s eyes narrowed. He was a master at practiced nonchalance, at appearing casual and unbothered in even the most dire situations; but this time, there was not an ounce of that charming easiness on his scarred features. There was nothing but anger in his coal black hues. “Fuck the supply,” he growled. “Those goddamn mutants attacked the whole town. You got quite a few good people killed. And now,” he continued, his voice dropping to a quiet hiss, “I’m gonna kill you.”

Bobbi’s scornful smile turned into an outright scowl.  _ “Fuck you, Mayor Hancock.” _

“The people of Goodneighbor say  _ fuck you, too.”  _

**POW.**

In a split-second, the ghoul’s head was splattered onto the wall behind her and Hancock was taking deep breaths to calm the rage stirring inside of himself. Revenge was sweet, especially when the bitch deserved it. After taking a few moments to bask in the sight of the two-timer’s bloody remains on the floor, he turned to his partner to find her wavering on her feet, eyes heavy. The Psycho was wearing off again. “Easy there, Sister,” he said, reaching out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder. “You still with me?”

Evelyn’s hazy gray eyes focused up on his face, her face almost dreamy. Hancock couldn’t deny the white-hot bolt of heat that shot straight down into his stomach at the sight of that expression. “I’m glad she’s dead,” the woman muttered softly before her eyes fluttered and she collapsed on him. Hancock quickly caught her, wrapping his free arm around her middle and clipping his shotgun onto his belt with the other hand. Now slipping both arms around her, he lowered her to the ground and gently propped her back against a piece of wall that was still intact, surprised at his sudden reluctance to let her go. He found his mind wandering for just a moment, thinking about all the shit they’d gone through together in such a short amount of time; how she’d taken on super mutants and mercenaries like it was nothing, doing it for the sake of others with no reward for herself. Goddamn that was badass.  _ She  _ was badass. Hancock had already made peace with the fact that he was infatuated by this woman — but did he like her more than he’d initially thought?

He shook it off, lowering himself to sit on the wall beside her and stretching his legs out. Pulling a small red inhaler from his pocket, he took a long drag of Jet and let the high take him wherever it wanted him to go.

Which was a very weird place.

“Ahhh,” he thought aloud to himself, turning his head slightly to look over at the unconscious woman beside him. “You got me feelin’ some kinda way.” Hancock closed his eyes for a brief moment, questions whirling around in his head. “What’s that word for when I’ve got a major boner — but it’s not in my dick? Well I mean it  _ is  _ in my dick — but it’s also in my heart.”

The word came to his mind unbidden and he let out a short bark of a laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of both the term and the idea itself. 

“ _ A heart-on.  _ Heh… Heheheh. A heart-on. Yeah, that’ll work. I’ve got a heart-on for you, Sister.”


	6. Flower Power / Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG LIST:
> 
> "Flower Power," by Greta Van Fleet.
> 
> "Bloom," by The Paper Kites.

> _**As the days pass by my mind  
>  Are the wrong, the right;  
> You are my sunshine,  
> And as the night begins to die,  
> We are the morning birds that sing against the sky!** _
> 
> _**It turns to night, fire light;  
>  Star shines in her eye.  
> Makes me feel like I'm alive,  
> She's outta sight,  
> She's alright, she's alright, she's alright;  
> She's outta sight, outta sight!** _
> 
> _**In the morning when I wake  
>  And the sun is coming through,  
> Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,  
> And you fill my head with you...  
> Shall I write it in a letter?  
> Shall I try to get it down?  
> Oh, you fill my head with pieces, of a song I can't get out...** _
> 
> _**Can I be close to you?** _

* * *

“Sanctuary isn’t far, now.”

“Hmmm.” Hancock was mostly silent as he walked alongside her. Finally, he side-eyed her, amusement in his voice. “We ever gonna talk about your apparent addiction to Psycho products?”

Evelyn’s lips pursed in embarrassment. “We going to talk about your addiction to chems in general?”

“Touché,” the ghoul laughed, pulling a tin of Mentats out of his pocket as if her scolding had reminded him to take his meds. Popping one into his mouth, he offered the tin to her; Evelyn eyed it for just a moment before deciding against it. While she had nothing against Mentats, she was still feeling the after-effects of using Psycho and knew better than most how bad it could be if the wrong drugs interacted. 

“Listen, there’s no judgment from my end,” Hancock said easily, waving a hand. “In fact, I think it’s pretty damn sexy when you hulk out like that.”

“When I…  _ hulk out?”  _ Evelyn’s tone was flabbergasted — only to hide her embarrassment. Unfortunately she couldn’t hide the heat rising to her cheeks. “I — uh —“

“You’re doin’ that thing again,” the ghoul interrupted with a grin. When Evelyn opened her mouth to protest, he said, “don’t worry. It’s cute. Nice to know I can make ya…  _ nervous.” _

_ ‘You  _ make _ me want to punch you’  _ rose in the back of the woman’s throat but she found herself unable to speak. Instead she just marched on stiffly, both irritated and ashamed at her own stupidity. Evelyn had never once in her life been at a loss for words, or unable to make a witty retort, but Hancock continuously had that effect on her. It was frustrating. And yet at the same time, some part of her, though she wouldn’t admit it, was very glad he’d decided to come along on her travels. She couldn’t help but remember the way she felt each time his arms found their way around her waist, whether it was to catch her or to lead her into a dance… how they felt  _ warm  _ and  _ strong  _ and… like  _ home. _

As they crossed the bridge to enter Sanctuary, Evelyn immediately felt at ease. This was home, or as close as she could get to it in this godforsaken wasteland _.  _ Her relief must’ve shown in her posture without her even realizing it, because Hancock broke the silence once more. “Nice place. You found this?”

“You could say that,” was her distant response as her eyes rover over all the houses, some ruined, some intact, and some repaired or rebuilt. This settlement was growing rapidly, thanks to the efforts she and Preston had dedicated to the Minutemen. “This place… it was my home. Before the bombs fell.”

Hancock’s gaze followed hers. “And now its home to quite a few other people. Must’ve taken some time and effort.”

“I wanted to build a place for Shaun to come home to,” she responded softly.

The moment was interrupted by the mechanical wail of a Mr. Handy that came racing over toward them. “OH, MISS EVELYN!” He practically sobbed. “You were gone so long that I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t come back, Mum!”

Evelyn’s expression brightened and she gave the fretting robot a reassuring smile. “I’m alright, Codsworth. It’s nice to know someone’s out there worrying about me.”

“As always, Mum — oh, my stars, I’d feared the worst!”

Hancock’s brow line lifted. “So… a Mr. Handy with severe separation anxiety.”

Codsworth’s mechanical eye swiveled to stare at him. “So; a ghoul with a severe chem addiction,” he sniffed. 

“How about you fuck off?” Hancock shot back.

Codsworth looked back at Evelyn; though he had no visible expression on his visage, she could tell he was displeased. “Your new companion is quite rude, Mum.”

“Unapologetically,” Hancock added.

“Just leave it be, Codsworth,” Evelyn said softly, attempting to smooth things out. “I’m glad to see you again. I’ve got some business to take care of, okay?”

The Mr. Handy sniffed again. “As always, Miss Evelyn,” he said, darting off. As he left, she could of swore she heard the robot mutter under his breath, “chems’ll kill you slowly, you know, but a snotty attitude will get you shot!”

As the pair made their way through Sanctuary, several settlers greeted Evelyn and welcomed her back. If any stopped her to speak, she introduced the ghoul mayor; the responses from the settlers made the raven-haired woman proud. They didn’t give his ghoul skin a second look, and even asked about his outfit or status, all questions he evaded with charm. Hancock seemed like an open book… so the fact that he was private about his past was surprising. 

Something inside of her was desperate to dig in and find out.

Finally they arrived at a house that seemed mostly intact, and had even been decorated with any unruined ornaments that could be found. “This was my house before the…”

“... apocalypse,” Hancock finished, looking around. “You’ve been taking care of this place.”

Evelyn showed him around, leading him into the back rooms. “There’s an extra bed. Anytime we need to stay here, you’re welcome to it.” 

Hancock pursed his lips as if he was trying to clamp his mouth shut; probably to keep from making some inappropriate comment that in any other situation would have been accepted with a witty come-back on her part. So not only did the ghoul have charm… he had tact, too. He really was full of surprises.

* * *

_ Why use the spare bed when we could just share one? Then I could finally show you all the ways I would coax your name out of you.  _ Jesus mole rat tacos, it was hard not to say it. The ghoul had to physically purse his lips together to keep it from slipping out. He’d never gotten a chance to show her all the ideas he’d had that night at the Rail… but now wasn’t the time for flirtatious commentary. Being suggestive came so naturally to Hancock, though, that the urge was there even in the worst possible moment.

Something in another room caught his attention enough to get his mind off of the inappropriate thoughts floating around in there. Two beds sat in the room she showed him, but the opposite room contained a blue crib and a scattering of child’s toys… his brow line furrowed and the ghoul realized just how…  _ stuck  _ this woman was. “For your son?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Yeah,” he heard her murmur faintly as he peered into the room.

Finally his sharp gaze moved back to her. “You know he has to be…” he began, but she shook her head almost ruefully.

“... older than that,” Evelyn finished, voice wavering. “I know.” Hancock stared at her a moment, and though her red lips were curled into a smile, it was a smile filled with unrest, sorrow, anger. She did well hiding it, but the ghoul was as perceptive as they came and he could clearly see how distressed she was. 

The woman standing before him was a person truly out of place and time; and it had taken its toll on her. She’d woken up in a world of chaos with her husband dead and her son missing, and was thrown into this harsh new life with no warning or help; and in learning to exist here, she found herself stuck in denial and unable to move on or cope properly. He had no idea he she felt; Hancock was born in the cruelty of post-war Commonwealth. He was raised in this madness. Taught his whole life how to survive in it.

He couldn’t possibly imagine what she was going through. 

“Well,” he said with a practiced casual tone, “no matter how old the kid is when we find him — and that’s  _ when,  _ not  _ if  _ we find him — I know he’ll be happy here.”

“We?” Evelyn asked softly. 

Hancock shrugged, half-grinning. “I told ya I’d help ya. I’m a man of my word.”

The joyful and appreciative glow in her gray eyes sent a warmth rolling down his spine. There it was; that feeling. His  _ heart-on.  _ Hancock opened his mouth to speak when there came a knock on the door. “General!”

“General?” Hancock quirked a brow curiously. “You’re a General and you’ve been scrounging around for caps?”

Evelyn grinned sheepishly. “Doesn’t pay as well as you’d think.” She went to answer the door and Hancock, following behind her, found a man with dark skin standing there expectantly. His posture was rigid, vigilant, as if he was the guardian of this settlement. 

“I got word back from the settlers at Oberland. They wanted to thank you for taking care of the raider problem. They’ve decided to join the Minutemen.”

“Excellent news, Preston. Any word from

The Railroad?”

“Desdemona is still considering an alliance. Lots of people are still scared of synths. She doesn’t want the wrong people knowing about…”

“Understood,” Evelyn finished with a wave of her hand. Hancock was having trouble keeping his jaw from dropping at this point; he’d heard of both the Railroad and the Minutemen… but the Railroad was just a rumor and the Minutemen had been disbanded since the infamous Quincy Massacre. He’d heard a few murmurs of the faction making a comeback but he had no idea  _ she  _ was at the center of it…

At this point, Hancock didn’t know what to think. He’d thought this woman was a drifter with a complicated past that was on the mission of a lifetime… but it appeared that she’d tucked quite a few accomplishments under her belt in the short time she’d been awake. The words came out before he was able to stop himself: _ “you rebuilt the goddamn  _ **_Minutemen_ ** _??” _

There was that sheepish smile again. “That’s way more credit than I deserve. Preston did most of the work. He kinda forced me into a leadership position.”

“Very untrue,” Preston said cheerfully. “But that’s an argument for another time. Speaking of being the  _ General,  _ General… I have something for you.”

Evelyn’s brows furrowed. She exchanged confused glances with Hancock before following Preston out the door and across the street to the house that held the main workshop. Hancock just then noticed two gleaming suits of power armor and he felt adrenaline rush through him at the thought of hopping into one of those bad boys. Had he died? Had the Super Mutant attack actually gone terribly and the entirety of his journey with this woman just a walk through his afterlife, and he’d finally arrived in heaven? Now all he needed was a mountain of chems to complete the perfect picture.

As they entered the other house, he sadly didn’t see a mountain of chems — but he did see an elderly woman relaxing in a high-backed chair with a very familiar expression on her face. She was high as a bird, and if the look on her face didn’t give it away, the Jet in her hand certainly did. He jerked his thumb in the older woman’s direction while quirking a brow at Evelyn, but she only gave him a knowing smile. Preston explained things as he dug through a green trunk for something. “I found this at the Castle. A few of the others and I all helped clean it up, repair it, and shine it. We all knew you were the only person that could wear it.”

He withdrew clothing. Not just clothing;  _ patriot’s  _ clothing, complete with an armored chest plate and a tricorn hat that looked almost identical to Hancock’s. Preston proudly offered it to Evelyn, who looked shocked. “It’s the uniform of the Minutemen General,” he quickly clarified. “Haven’t seen one of these since before Quincy… it’ll be the perfect symbol of all that we’ve rebuilt.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Evelyn breathed, running fingers over the brilliant blue cloth. 

“Thank me by wearing it.” Preston’s dark eyes held a spark of admiration in them. Hancock doubted it was of the romantic sort but the look, for some reason, made his stomach twinge uncomfortably anyways. 

Evelyn glanced back at Hancock before taking the uniform and moving into one of the back rooms to change into it. While they waited for her, Hancock turned his eyes back to the old woman in the chair. “What’s your chem of choice?” He asked with a grin.

The woman’s pale eyes opened and she stared at him with a gaze that seemed so very ancient and so young all at the same time. She looked like she was peering  _ through  _ him, not at him. “I’ll take whatever the Sight dictates,” she rasped with a vacant smile.

Hancock’s brow rose. “The Sight?”

“Sometimes I see things that were; things that are; and things that will be. The Sight shows me what it wants to show me… and sometimes it helps others find what they’re looking for, too.”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, eyeing her. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”

She held out a hand.

He knew what she wanted, and was all-too happy to oblige. Tossing her a fresh canister of Jet, he watched her take a puff and ride the high with closed eyes. To his surprise, she didn’t speak; she began humming. Even more surprising… it was the song he’d danced to that night at the Rail. The song Magnolia had sung when he spun Evelyn around the dance floor, capturing the attention of everyone in the room but only focused on her. “You’ve already found what you’re looking for,” the old woman finally said, beginning to cough. She sunk back into her chair, deflated.

Hancock’s eyes narrowed. Well,  _ that didn’t fucking help at all.  _ “What’s your name, lady?” he asked.

She eventually answered, but by the time she did, Hancock’s gaze had strayed to the opposite wall — more specifically to where the wall was peeling off… because he could see glimpses of a half-naked Evelyn in the next room and it took all the ghoul’s willpower not to lick his suddenly dry lips. He’d seen parts of that smooth, caramel skin when he’d stitched up her shoulder — and now he was seeing much more of it, and his breath seemed to clutch in his chest as he miserably failed in his attempts to stifle his thoughts about all the things he wanted to do to make her scream. Hancock stared until his lungs were screaming and when he finally dragged his gaze away, he found Preston looking at him with narrowed eyes. The ghoul’s answer was a simple shrug. 

Finally, Evelyn came out. All eyes in the room went to her. Preston had been damn right; she was the only person fit to wear that uniform. Preston broke the silence, his voice proud. “You wear it well, General.”

Evelyn’s expression was one of contentment; like she was born to wear that outfit. And Hancock believed she was. She may have been the woman out of time, but she certainly looked like she was made for this. When Preston saluted and left to patrol, the raven-haired woman approached Hancock. He couldn’t help letting his eyes wander her once more; when she noticed, her red lips curled into a half-grin. “I look like you,” she said, reaching up to tap the top of his hat. 

“Well no wonder I want to undress you with my eyes then,” he replied wolfishly.

She laughed; a calming sound, like a babbling brook or fresh rainfall. “You’re that into yourself, huh?” 

His body moved without thought; he took a step closer, now looking over her and staring down at her with dark eyes that spoke of his every intention. “I’m more into  _ you,”  _ he said lowly.

Her laughter ceased and those bright gray eyes looked up at him. He was once again stunned by the intensity of her gaze; an intensity that matched his own, bit for bit. They held their stare for a few moments, completely oblivious to the world around them… until someone at the house’s entrance cleared their throat and Evelyn looked away. Hancock resentfully followed her gaze to find a man standing there. Something about him was… off; maybe it was the obviously fake hair on his head, or the cracked sunglasses shielding his eyes, or maybe it was just his demeanor. Hancock didn’t know what to think of this guy other than that he didn’t like him.

“Agent RX,” the man greeted casually — too casually — and leaned off the doorway, entering the house. “Got a message from HQ. It’s urgent.”

“Deacon,” Evelyn greeted with a smile, unfazed by his off-putting appearance. “What’s going on? I asked Desdemona about —“

“It’s not about that,” he interrupted. “You and I have to get to Ticon. High Rise has got some important info for us. Too important to put in a dead drop.”

Hancock tried his best to keep up. Agent?  _ Wait… the Railroad.  _ So they were really true; the rumors. From what he’d heard, the Railroad freed synths and protected them from the Institute. He wasn’t too sure about synths, but any organization that aimed to take down the Institute couldn’t be all bad… even if the fight was next to hopeless. 

Evelyn pursed her lips. “Alright; well, let me gather my things and I’ll meet you at the bridge in ten minutes.”

Deacon nodded. His head tilted ever so slightly in Hancock’s direction, his voice holding a hint of skepticism. “He comin’ along too?”

“You bet your ass I am,” Hancock insisted vehemently, lip curling into a snarl. He wasn’t sure where this defensiveness came from, but something about this ‘Deacon’ guy just… rubbed him the wrong way. When Deacon merely looked back to Evelyn for confirmation instead of responding to him like a man, the ghoul resisted the urge to knock those stupid sunglasses right off his fucking face.

Evelyn, thankfully, gave a resolute nod. “If he wants to come, then he’s coming. He’ll be invaluable help no matter what we’re dealing with. Deacon, this is Hancock.” 

When she gestured to introduce the ghoul, Deacon merely looked at him, arms folded casually over his chest. “Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor; yeah, I know who you are. That atrocious jacket gives you away.”

“No more unfashionable than that hideous wig you’re wearin’,” the ghoul replied through his teeth. 

Deacon’s lips suddenly curled into a grin. “I may like this guy more than I thought I would.” Turning away, he headed out the door. “I’ll be waiting for you two at the bridge.”

When he left, Hancock turned narrowed eyes on Evelyn. “The hell is up with that guy?” he questioned.

She shrugged, smiling ruefully. “Honestly — I don’t know. Any conversation I’ve had with the guy, asked about his past, he’s given me bullshit. If Deacon is to be believed, he’s the leader of the Railroad, spent a short time as a ghoul, is older than I am, was there for the Quincy Massacre… oh, and he’s also a synth.”

“Is Deacon even the guy’s real name?”

“No idea.”

The ghoul snorted. “So he’s a compulsive liar… got it. What’s the mission?”

“High Rise is the leader of Ticonderoga Safe House, one of the places we take synths for safekeeping until we can get their memories wiped and get them out of the Commonwealth. If he’s got some important information, something he can’t dead-drop to us, that’s concerning. It must be big.”

* * *

After grabbing some supplies from Evelyn’s home, the pair walked through Sanctuary under the warm light of the setting sun and saw Deacon’s silhouette against the deep orange sky, waiting at the bridge. Evelyn bade farewell to Jun, who was standing at the guard post rigidly, and got a timid but genuine response. Personally, Evelyn was tired. She’d gone through two doses of Psycho in the past four days and had had very little sleep; but the adrenaline spike caused by the urgency of High Rise’s message kept her on her feet and moving quickly. Unfortunately it’d take the better part of a day to get to Ticon, and be the time they’d gotten about halfway, mostly in silence, the woman found herself yawning and unintentionally slowing her pace. 

Deacon, who was traveling in front, didn’t seem to notice, but Hancock did. Dark eyes narrowed on her as he slowed his pace slightly to walk beside her. “Ya alright, Sister?” he asked quietly.

“Haven’t slept since that attack on Goodneighbor,” Evelyn murmured; she knew she couldn’t push the human body past its limits, but she still felt guilty for wanting to sleep. She knew this was of utmost importance, but she was beginning to see mattresses everywhere, floating around her head, calling her name.

“Jesus,” the ghoul murmured, frowning and bringing them both to a stop. “Ey, Glasses! Our girl needs some rest. We gotta stop.”

Deacon hesitated and turned halfway to glance back at them. “Can’t stop,” he called back, about two yards ahead of them. “Gotta get to Ticon by morning!”

“She’s dead on her feet!” Hancock hissed back. Evelyn’s suddenly bleary gaze moved from her fellow Railroad agent to the ghoul at her side, and was suddenly aware of his hand on her back protectively. Was he aware? Did he know his hand was sending tingles up her spine despite her exhaustion? Did he have any clue what he was doing at the moment, or was reaching for her just impulsive for him? Like an instinct?

Deacon sighed, then hustled back over to them. Seeing the look on Evelyn’s face, he relented. “Alright, alright. There’s a safehouse about a mile from here. I’ll mark it on your map; you can stay there — but  _ someone  _ still needs to get to Ticon by morning. I’ll go ahead by myself and you can meet me there tomorrow.”

Evelyn nodded, a frown on her lips. God, the guilt was just rolling down her back like a nauseating wave. “I’m sorry,” she attempted, swallowing down the lump rising in the back of her throat. “I’m sorry, Deacon. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was — …”

“No use in you watching my back if you’re too tired to actually watch it.” Deacon waved her apologies away nonchalantly. “I’ll see ya tomorrow. Dealio?”

“Dealio,” was the ravenette’s quiet reply. Guilt-ridden gray eyes moved over to the ghoul beside her to see if he wanted to go ahead with Deacon; she knew his reason for coming along with her was that he wanted to get back out on the road again. He’d been living too comfortable in Goodneighbor. He was eager to get back out there, bashing heads and living on the road… right? When she met his gaze, she found something else there, however. Evelyn’s voice was faint, uncertain, very much unlike herself. “You can go ahead,” she murmured. “I’ll just get a little rest at the safe-house and meet you both at Ticon.”

Hancock’s eyes narrowed just slightly, his voice firm. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

A hint of a smile curled her lips. With a brief nod, she looked up to bid farewell to Deacon to find he was already gone. They veered off to the left, following the directions on her Pip-Boy; as they walked, the sky darkened into a midnight blue-green and the warped rumbling of atomic thunder sounded in the distance. The rain came quickly, burning the moment it made contact with Evelyn’s skin; feeling like a thousand needles were pricking into her skin, she hurried along in the direction her Pip-Boy pointed, Hancock by her side the whole time. The directions Deacon gave her led the pair to a small dank cave. “Safe-house, huh?” the ghoul grumbled, ushering Evelyn inside. “This is a dump. ‘Least it’ll keep us outta the rain.”

When they got inside, they did find a couple of rolled-up sleeping bags, a small cache of food, and an ammunition box; this place seemed to just be somewhere for an agent to crash while on the run. It would suit them well enough for their purposes. Settling on top of a sleeping bag wearily, Evelyn felt the rest of her adrenaline fade and suddenly she found it nearly impossible to keep her eyes open. Sure, she’d blacked out after taking those doses of Psycho, but it wasn’t  _ rest.  _ That much was proven by the way her stitched-up shoulder still ached and stung with every movement. It had made things difficult getting that Minutemen uniform on…

Hancock settled against the wall opposite her, which wasn’t far considering how small the cave was. There were two sleeping bags -- but he was sitting up, clearly unwilling to sleep. Her lips curled into a sleepy frown. “I’m keepin’ watch,” he assured her, lips quirking into a half-grin. 

“Take one of my mines and set it outside the cave… it’ll alert us to anyone trying to ambush us… that way you can sleep, too.”

Hancock shook his head. “Not tired.”

“But I — …”

“Forget it, Sister,” the ghoul interrupted. “I’ve got first watch. Get a few hours of zzz’s, okay?”

Evelyn frowned even more, but blearily set a timer on her Pip-Boy, took her hat off, and laid her head down. The darkness descended upon her almost immediately. The last thing she saw as she drifted off was Hancock sitting back against the wall, watching her intently.

* * *

The wall was uncomfortable and frankly, the thought of taking a snooze in one of those sleeping bags was sorely tempting; but he didn’t want to risk anything sneaking up on them. A mine could alert them to any dangers, but if both of them were too sleepy-eyed to focus properly, they’d end up getting killed anyways. No, he felt much safer keeping first watch and letting her get some much-needed sleep. 

On instinct, one hand reached into his pocket and grabbed hold of the small half-empty canister of Jet there; but if he partook of the chem, his concentration would drift and he really might end up falling asleep. No, he needed to be clear-headed in case something happened. So he passed the time humming to himself, thinking about the folks he left behind in Goodneighbor, and at one point he even snuck over to the radio in the corner and tuned into Diamond City for some music. That settlement might’ve been filled prejudiced bastards, but they had some of the most quality tunes in the Commonwealth. Occasionally he looked out at the mild radioactive storm going on outside the cave, but a lot of his time was spent watching the woman sleep. There was something so peaceful, so relaxing about it… the only time the ghoul ever felt more at home was when she was looking into his eyes with that  _ smile  _ on her face.

Hancock’s own eyes had begun growing rather heavy when he saw her shift on her sleeping bag, her brows furrowing. Bad dream? Uncomfortable? Perhaps the stitches in her shoulder were tugging? When she continued to shift and groan, he sat up and moved toward her to check her shoulder — when Evelyn broke into a sob and her eyes flew open. Immediately tears filled them; and he wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or a reaction from just waking up, but she threw her arms around him, clinging to him and not letting go. Her cries wet his jacket, hands fisting in his clothes, hair mussing under his chin — Hancock didn’t know how to react at first, so shocked by the suddenness of her emotional outburst. Finally after he was able to gather his own bearings, the ghoul wrapped two steady arms around her. She was shaking against him. “Hey…” his voice was soft, almost a whisper. “You alright?”

When Evelyn finally lifted her face, wide tear-stained eyes looking up at him in fear, Hancock felt his heart sink straight into his stomach. He felt almost sick, seeing such pain on her face. He’d seen people cry, he’d seen people screaming and begging and pleading for their lives, and yet none of them tugged on his chest like her. 

But perhaps that was because he’d never met a purer soul, either.

“Shaun,” she breathed, voice trembling. “I — it was happening all over again —”

Hancock immediately understood, remembering what she’d told him of her past. Being frozen on ice… losing her husband… child being kidnapped… he had his own demons, his own skeletons in the closet, and he knew how those memories could seep into dreams and fuck with the brain, even when it seemed like you were past it. He pursed his lips, hands coming up to grasp her shoulders firmly, to try and ground her. “You’re right here, right now,” he said quietly. “You’re not there. You’re here. Right here.”

Evelyn took a few deep breaths and he nodded quietly in encouragement. Closing her eyes for a long moment, she let out another calming breath. “I-I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I…”

“Take all the time ya need,” the ghoul replied, a hint of that playfulness returning to his voice. “A shapely she-warrior in my lap? I’m not complainin’.”

Through the tears, she smiled slightly. “I thought I was a, ah…  _ statuesque goddess.” _

“I’m just going to combine every compliment I can think of and make a list,” he replied confidently. “And at any given time I’ll just choose a phrase from the list, that way I’ll always keep ya guessing.”

A chuckle came from her and she finally was able to unball one fist from his jacket and wipe her eyes. It was clear she was still tired. “So you don’t m—”

Before she could finish the phrase, the ghoul had tugged her fully into his lap and settled against the wall once more, suddenly not caring at all that the rocky surface behind him was digging into his spine. “No, I don’t.”

In any other situation, being so close to one another would have caused a tension that could be sliced with a knife; their attraction to one another was undeniable. But in this moment, in the aftermath of a horrible nightmare, there was only comfort.  _ Peace.  _ Evelyn settled her head on the ghoul’s shoulder, eyes beginning to drift closed again; Hancock’s arms curled around her firmly, refusing to let go. “Lemme tell ya a story,” he began quietly, chin resting atop her head. “I know a fair bit about you and I feel it’s only fair I tell ya a bit about myself, too.”

“I still wanna know about the costume,” she murmured, voice just above a whisper. It was clear she was already half-asleep and her mere curiosity was keeping her awake. 

He grunted in amusement. “Alright. Here’s the story. Before I ever even thought about becomin’ mayor of Goodneighbor, some asshole named Vic ran the town. He was a real dick; treated us all like his personal piggy bank. He had a goon squad he’d use to keep us all in line… and every once in a while, he’d let ‘em off their leash to blow off some steam — and guess who they targeted? Sure some of the folks with homes could lock their doors, but us drifters got the worst of it. One night a drifter said somethin’ to them — and those fuckers cracked him open like a can of Cram on the pavement. We stood there… we did nothing.”

There was silence from the woman, but her hand, still clutching his clothes, tightened slightly. Hancock was in another world as he recounted the tale, his anger and guilt reflected in his raspy voice. “It was cowardly of us… but we were all so terrified, we couldn’t bring ourselves to even move until it was over, let alone go get help. I felt like nothing — nah,  _ worse  _ than nothing. Afterwards I got so high that I blacked out completely. When I came to, I was on the bottom floor of the Old State House — coincidentally, right in front of the clothes of ol’ John Hancock.  _ John Hancock… first American hoodlum and defender of the People.  _ I was probably still high, but those clothes  _ spoke  _ to me. Called me to a new purpose, told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put on the clothes, became a whole new person.  _ John Hancock.  _ I got clean for a bit, got organized, convinced KL-E-O to lend me some hardware. Got a crew of fellow drifters together, went out into the ruins, started trainin’. All of us. Next time Vic’s boys decided to ‘blow off some steam,’ we’d be ready for ‘em… but when the night came, it seemed fate had somethin’ else planned. We let Vic’s boys get good and plastered, then we burst from the windows and rooftops where we’d been hiding. They didn’t see a goddamn thing. We didn’t have to fire a shot.”

“But you did.”

“We didn’t  _ have  _ to… but we sure fucking  _ did.  _ It was a massacre. Once we’d mopped up the mess, we strolled right into Vic’s quarters in the State House, put a rope around his neck, and threw his ass right off the balcony.”

Her hand once again clutched his jacket a little tighter. “He deserves worse.”

Hancock moves his head to top it back against the wall, memories flying past his eyes. “Couldn’t agree more. But I had a decision to make, killing Vic… there I was, gun in hand, draped in Hancock’s duds, looking at all the folks assembled below. They’d seen everything. I had to say  _ something.  _ The phrase just flashed across my mind and I said the words before I even realized it…”

_ “Of the people…” _

“...  _ For the people,”  _ Hancock finished Evelyn’s statement, feeling a twinge of pride in his gut. “It’s cheesy, yeah, but it’s more than just a motto. It’s our  _ way of life.  _ That was my inaugural address — became  _ Mayor  _ Hancock of Goodneighbor that night, and I made a vow then and there to never stand by and watch —  _ never again.” _

Evelyn finally lifted her head from his shoulder to meet his gaze; her eyes were tired, but curiosity kept her awake. “You came so far and fought so hard. You were meant to be Mayor… so why did you leave?”

Meeting those eyes once more, Hancock felt a tingling warmth spread slowly from his chest, enveloping his whole body in comfort like a blanket of clouds on a breezy spring day. His mouth opened before he even had a chance to think. “I’m a man who follows my instincts… and they told me that you popped into my life for a reason. I knew wherever you went… I had to go too.”

She stared at him with an indecipherable expression for a long moment, before a soft smile curled her red lips. Hancock couldn’t help it when his eyes shifted to them. That was a pair of lips he’d been longing to taste from the moment he first saw them, whether he’d initially wanted to admit it or not. The ghoul was past that point now; he knew he liked her, more than words could express, but he wasn’t sure how or if to act on those feelings… because first and foremost, he had no idea if she returned them. Hancock was a perceptive man, and judging from the way she looked at him, he’d say she did… but she was also a naturally charismatic person. Was he special? Was this different?

On instinct, one hand moved itself from its spot around her waist to reach up, a few fingers brushing a lock of curly black hair behind her ear, gaze lingering on the raven strands. Hancock had always loved blondes… male or female… but there was something about Evelyn’s black hair that sent tingles down his spine. 

He didn’t seem to be the only one affected by the touch; Evelyn’s breath caught and her eyes widened for just a moment. Her hand still hadn’t relinquished its grip on his jacket — but he wasn’t complaining, because suddenly that hand was pulling him in closer, their faces inches apart. He could feel her warm breath on his lips, could feel the shiver of her body against him, could see the fear and awe and desire in her eyes… and he found all those things mirrored in his own expression. “I — … thank you,” Evelyn finally breathed, her voice a mere whisper. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Hancock tried to wrack his brain for a response, but found his eyes settling on her mouth again, every fiber of his being willing himself not to lean in and claim those lips. The tense moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity… before Evelyn finally pulled back and she let out a shaky breath. Pulling from his lap slowly, she settled back down on her sleeping bag, leaving him feeling breathless, confused, and feeling empty without her in his arms. The loss of her body heat, of her comfort struck him harder than he would’ve ever thought. The ghoul had had lots of flings, had bedded quite a few people, had even had a small share of real relationships… but nothing in his memory had ever,  _ ever  _ felt like  _ this. _

* * *

Evelyn’s eyes opened slowly to the beeping sound of her Pip-Boy’s alarm clock, and mild pain throbbed in her stitched shoulder. Sitting up slowly and painstakingly, she looked around to see that Hancock’s head was lolled back against the wall; he was sleeping peacefully, snoring lightly with his mouth hung open. The sight brought a smile to her lips — until she remembered the night before. Her nightmares, the way she’d clung to him like a damn child… the story he’d told about his past, the almost-kiss… Suddenly her lips tingled and she brought a few fingers to them, as if making sure they were still there. Still untouched. Un-kissed.

She couldn’t lie, she had desperately wanted Hancock to kiss her. Every inch of her body was filled with warmth, desire,  _ comfort.  _ He made her feel at-ease yet nervous, safe yet endangered. 

But so many things stood in the way. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by the ghoul, no matter how charming he was… or brave… or caring… or funny…

Evelyn shook her head, forcing those thoughts out and focusing on the present. Luckily, even though both of them had fallen asleep, no one had attempted to ambush or attack them, it seemed. The sun was beginning to rise over the hills in the distance; soon it would be light and Deacon would be expecting them. Hopefully this mission with the Railroad would give some sort of valuable intel on the Institute, on Kellogg, or her missing son… that was one of the biggest reasons she had decided to stick with them, to become an agent and help them in their cause.

Because no matter what, everything Evelyn did, she did for Shaun.

Stretching her arms and legs and lifting herself onto her knees, she leaned over to nudge the ghoul’s knee. He started awake, eyes flying open and a hand going to the shotgun on the ground next to him; once he realized everything was okay, he let out a breath and let his head drop back against the wall. Then those dark eyes moved to look at her and a sleepy grin curled his lips. “Morning, sunshine,” he murmured.

Something about the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice sent warmth right down her spine, pooling in her stomach and spreading to her limbs. “Uhhhh, morning,” she replied hesitantly, her cheeks flaring with nervous heat. Scrambling to her feet and re-arming herself, she began slowly making her way to the cave entrance, hand cautiously going to the shotgun clipped onto her hip. After a thorough examination of the surrounding area, she surmised that no one had been there; it was strange to think they’d both been able to get a relatively decent night’s sleep… but there it was. And she was feeling much more refreshed and renewed than before.

Hancock joined her at the entrance, clipping his own shotgun onto his belt. “You look like you’re feelin’ better,” he commented.

The rising sun cast a warm orange/yellow glow on them, and Evelyn peered into the horizon, concern rising on her expression. “Yeah. Better. But we need to get to Ticon, quickly; Deacon will be waiting for us, and this sounds important.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road.”

* * *

The journey to Ticonderoga didn’t take too long. They met a few irritable raiders along the way and nearly had a shoot-out with some gunners, but all in all the trip was easy and they got there by late morning. 

But as soon as they arrived, Evelyn knew something was wrong. Very, very wrong. The whole place seemed…  _ off. Quiet.  _ Like it had been…  _ abandoned. _

Shotgun in-hand, the pair entered the silent building with alert eyes. They moved through it without any confrontation — which was in and of itself worrisome. If it had been raiders, or super mutants, they would have been confronted with those who lingered, or at least a few bodies.

But they saw  _ nothing. _

It was only when they reached the second floor that Evelyn’s eyes widened and she threw herself at something on the ground. “High Rise,” she cried, setting down her shotgun and frantically tending to him. He was riddled with burns; laser-fire… after a check to his pulse, her eyes slowly closed and she swallowed back her grief, blinking her eyes furiously to keep the tears at bay. There was nothing she could do to help; first-aid was useless. He’d been dead too long. “He’s gone,” she finally croaked, pushing down the bile rising in the back of her throat. 

“He fought to the death,” Hancock said quietly from behind her. “He died for his cause. He’s honorable.”

Evelyn nodded, sniffling slightly and grabbing her firearm. She stood up slowly, taking in the rest of her surroundings; High Rise’s body was the only one. So where was…?

“Your friend,” Hancock realized with a frown. “He’s not here.”

“Which means he was intercepted…”

“... or kidnapped,” the ghoul finished grimly. 


	7. Unsainted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG:
> 
> "Unsainted," by Slipknot.

**_Oh, I'll never kill myself to save my soul._ **

**_I was gone but how was I to know?_ **

**_I didn't come this far to sink so low;_ **

**_I'm finally holding on to_ **

**_letting go._ **

* * *

Evelyn felt her chest grow heavy; so heavy that she stumbled in her spot and reached out to brace herself against a wall. High Rise was  _ dead,  _ the synths here were gone, and Deacon was absolutely nowhere to be found.

_ Who could have done this? _

Her first assumption was the Institute. A Courser had found the safehouse and attacked; and frankly, she wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Synth Coursers were extremely powerful; just one could have easily taken out everyone at Ticon. They could have taken Deacon for information on the Railroad, as well.

Hancock came to stand beside her, his expression grim. Angry. “Let’s have a look-see,” he suggested. “There may be a clue as to what exactly happened here, and where our enemies took your friend.”

“If the Institute took him… then we have no hope,” Evelyn replied sadly, letting out a heavy breath to try and keep herself calm. Losing control of her emotions wouldn’t do any good here. “No one’s ever gotten inside.”

“Let’s look anyways. Makin’ assumptions never did anyone any good either.” The ghoul began searching the surrounding area, shotgun still in-hand. “I got a gut feelin’ we’re not seeing the whole picture.”

Evelyn nodded, leaning off the wall and beginning to look around too. She checked High Rise’s body first; other than the laser burns, she didn’t see anything out of place — … wait. Because his skin was so dark, she hadn’t noticed it at first, but on his forehead, right in the middle, was a small symbol etched in blood. It looked like a… “a cross?” she muttered softly, brows furrowing. “Hancock, I think I found —”

“Evelyn, you should come see this.” The ghoul’s voice came from another area of the second floor. Suddenly anxious, she frowned and got up, joining him in another room — and what she saw there made her stop in her tracks, dropping her shotgun in shock. Even the loud clatter of the weapon against the floor didn’t break her from her terrified trance. 

Written on the wall, in red blood, was a message: “ABOMINATIONS DESERVE DEATH.” Surrounding the words were many versions of the same symbol Evelyn had seen on High Rise’s forehead.

“I think my gut feeling was right,” Hancock murmured, not breaking his gaze from the horrific sight. 

Evelyn took in a sharp breath in an attempt to calm her racing heart, finally stooping to retrieve her weapon. Her mind was whirling, untamed and filled with fright; fright for the Railroad, for the Synths they were trying to help, for Deacon, for her mission… in an attempt to organize her thoughts and quell her terror, she spoke her suspicions aloud. “Okay,” the ravenette began breathlessly, eyes straying to look anywhere, anywhere but that damn wall. “So I’m suspecting this is a group of radicals… a small group, probably, since I’ve never heard of anyone like them around here… but they must be well organized and dangerous if they got the best of both High Rise and Deacon. They’re very obviously anti-synth… that message on the wall is proof of that. The ‘abominations’ are synths. They probably took Deacon for information on the Railroad, like I thought before.”

“Sounds about right,” Hancock agreed grimly, finally tearing his own gaze from the wall. “I haven’t seen anything else that could tell us where those bastards took Deacon, though.”

Evelyn pursed her lips, feeling a bit more focused and alert. Rather than debilitating fear, she was filled with anger; anger at these bigots for killing High Rise, for taking Deacon, and for putting her own mission in jeopardy. She began searching more fervently, but found nothing of use; it wasn’t until she went back to High Rise’s body, beginning to thoroughly check him for any further clues, that something caught her attention. When she attempted to roll him over, something small fell out of his hand, laying gently on the floor. 

A ripped piece of clothing.

Her eyes widened and she used gloved fingers to pick it up gingerly. “I think… I think this is Deacon’s!” she exclaimed. 

Hancock joined her at the body and peered at the tattered cloth. “Yeah, that looks like the ugly shirt he was wearin’. But I don’t have the means to follow his trail based on that thing… do you?”

Evelyn’s lips quirked. “Actually, yeah. I do.”

* * *

Using her Pip-Boy to make a report back to the Railroad HQ, Evelyn also radioed Sturgess back at Sanctuary. Her request was for Preston to gather Dogmeat and head out immediately to meet her at the Oberland Station settlement, which seemed like a good halfway point between their locations. 

It took the better half of a day to get from one place to the next, but by nightfall they’d reached Oberland and were greeted cheerfully by the sleepy settlers there. “Preston is out by the tracks,” one of the men said before going into his room to retire for the night. When Evelyn and Hancock exited one of the buildings to follow the train tracks, a dog came out of the darkness, running at them at full-speed. That dog happily tackled Evelyn, licking at her face desperately and wagging his tail at the speed of light.

“Hey, boy!” she greeted, arms surrounding the German Shepherd in a hug and giving his head lots of scratches. She truly was happy to see him; that canine was her first real companion in this new mess of a world, and she usually kept him at Sanctuary for his own protection. There were dangerous things out here, things a dog stood no chance against, and Dogmeat was one creature she was not going to risk under any circumstance. When their reunion was finished, the dog peered curiously up at Hancock, his ears perking. He seemed… confused by him, hesitantly moving to sniff at his leg. Evelyn flushed in embarrassment. “I don’t think he’s met many…”

“... ghouls, yeah,” Hancock finished, seeming unbothered. He stooped down and offered a hand for the canine to sniff, smiling slightly. “It’s alright. I haven’t seen many dogs that weren’t mutated or feral beyond belief.” After getting a good sniff of the ghoul and finally deciding that he wasn’t one of the ‘bad ones,’ Dogmeat boofed happily and nuzzled into Hancock’s hand, wagging his tail. It was clear he was still curious about the ghoul, but a friendship was quickly being formed; the sight warmed Evelyn’s heart. 

Another figure came closer to them, emerging into the light of the settlement. Preston, holding his laser musket and looking as vigilant as ever. “I’m guessing it’s something important, General,” he said. “You don’t usually request these kinds of things with so much urgency.”

“Deacon is missing.” Evelyn’s explanation of the crime scene was short and to the point. “Thank you for bringing Dogmeat. I think he’ll do a fine job sniffing out Deacon’s trail. You’re free to go back to Sanctuary if you wish, Preston... we could also use your help with this, though, if you choose.”

Preston seemed to consider. Evelyn knew this wasn’t out of laziness or a preference for staying out of danger; when she was gone, Preston usually ran things around the settlement and made decisions for the Minutemen. He was a man who took any responsibility very seriously, so she knew asking him to take off on a mission with her, effectively leaving things in others’ hands for a while, was difficult for him. Finally, he reluctantly nodded. “I’ll be happy to watch your back, General.”

“I’ll make arrangements for Sturgess to conduct business in Sanctuary for a few days,” she reassured him, immediately accessing her Pip-Boy and relaying the message. Afterwards, Evelyn beckoned Dogmeat and presented the tattered piece of clothing; something she'd kept safely in a small bag in her pocket to avoid tainting the smell. When he sniffed it, however, his ears perked and he looked up at her curiously, before nosing at her hand. Immediately Evelyn's face fell — apparently Dogmeat smelled her on the shirt rather than Deacon. "Not me, boy," she tried to encourage him. "Catch the other scent. This shirt belongs to our friend Deacon. Remember him? We need to find him."

The Shepherd stared at her for another moment, still wagging his tail curiously, before finally giving the cloth another long sniff. This time, he seemed to catch on; he let out a short bark before taking off to the west. "A-hunting we go," Evelyn said to her companions with a smile, before hastily following the canine.

* * *

Dogmeat stopped to sniff at the cloth repeatedly as he led the group in a westward direction; before they knew it, the canine had led them to a lone church in the hills. It had a dome-like structure with one steeple at the entrance; but perhaps the oddest thing about the lonely little building was its bright red door. Many of the windows were busted and the place looked completely abandoned, but it was still standing, resilient against the devastation of the bombs. "I've seen this place on a few maps," Preston commented as they cautiously moved in a bit closer. "Never thought it was anything special, though."

"I wouldn't expect anything else from these assholes." Hancock's expression was dark as he stared up at the cross on the apex of the steeple. "A buncha goddamn religious nuts using a church as their headquarters? Fitting. Too bad they fucked with the wrong people."

Preston glanced sideways at Hancock, seemingly annoyed with the use of language, but their sentiments were the same. "You don't think they're Children of Atom, do you?" he asked Evelyn. "That's the only religious group in the Commonwealth that immediately comes to mind."

Evelyn frowned, seemingly deep in thought. She'd been quiet this entire time, utterly focused on the task at hand and dead-set on finding Deacon. "I don't think so. This crew used laser weapons, not gamma guns... and as far as I know, Children of Atom have never directly targeted synths." She paused once more, hand moving to unclip her combat shotgun from its place at her hip. "Either way, I'm sending them straight to hell."

The three slowly approached the front door, three sets of eyes moving to check for any traps, tripwires, or triggers. Hancock carefully stooped to take apart the tripwire he saw at the bottom of the door. "Clear," he whispered, getting back to his feet and making sure his shotgun was loaded. Meanwhile Preston had snuck over to one of the lower-level windows and peered through it, looking around for any hidden enemies or traps awaiting them inside. When he came back, Evelyn found confusion all over his face. "It's... empty," he muttered, as if he couldn't believe his own eyes. "There's nothing in there, other than a pile of rubble. No supplies, no beds, no traps, no turrets, no people. You don't think Dogmeat was...?"

"Wrong? No," Evelyn responded without missing a beat. Lowering her shotgun, she let out a sigh. "I... I doubt it. Maybe. But I still think we should check the place out. He couldn't have led us to this particular place for nothing."

The trio crept inside the church; Evelyn commanded Dogmeat to stay near the door in case danger awaited them further inside. But as they entered, they found that Preston had been correct — there was nothing but a pile of rubble in the middle of the church from where a section of the roof had crumbled. "Let's look around," Hancock suggested, and the three split up to scour different parts of the church. It was the ghoul who found something on the floor in the back of the building; when the others came to investigate his findings, they found it was... a hatch, or some kind of trap door, partially covered by debris. Kicking dirt and planks of wood out of the way, Preston moved to open it while the other two pointed their muzzles at it defensively.

But there was nothing but darkness — and a ladder. The trio exchanged looks, but it was Evelyn who finally spoke. “Who’s up for a little underground exploration?”

* * *

“This wasn’t the kind of exploration I was thinkin’ of doing with you,” Hancock muttered as he helped Evelyn down from the four foot gap between the ladder and solid ground. 

“If we make it through this, I’ve got a few ideas I think you’ll like much more,” the ravenette replied, obviously teasing, but it still got him excited regardless. Thinking of all the positions he could get that lithe body into… all the places his mouth could explore… the ghoul soon found himself forgetting their current mission entirely and had to forcibly shake the thoughts from his head. Licking suddenly dry lips, he left Preston to find his own way down and followed Evelyn further into the darkness. 

Despite knowing the seriousness of their current situation, Hancock simply couldn’t help the words that came out of his mouth: “so… what kinda ideas you have, Sister? Humor me…”

He could hear Preston grunting from behind them as he dropped to the ground, quickly catching up. His tone was laced with disgust as he interrupted. “ — do you really think now is the time for that kind of talk?”

Hancock’s lip curled defensively. “Hey, just because  _ you’re  _ a virgin…”

“Who says Preston is a virgin?”

The phrase itself wasn’t surprising; it was the person who said it. As she spoke, Evelyn glanced back at the two men, a playful glint in her gray eyes. Jaw dropping, Hancock looked from her to Preston, who was… “are you  _ blushing?”  _ the ghoul demanded.

Preston didn’t answer. Hancock suddenly felt a tug of jealousy in his chest, dropping his heart down into his stomach. On instinct his hands clenched his shotgun a little more tightly as his eyes shifted to Evelyn, narrowing on her. “You and Preston have…?”

She must’ve noticed the tinge of bitterness in his expression because the humor faded from her visage and her eyes widened slightly. “I’m joking,” she answered in a reassuring tone. “All in good fun.”

The tension drained from his shoulders and he forced an easy smile onto his face. “Yeah, I figured.”

“I should be used to the General joking like that by now…” Preston mumbled in embarrassment, hefting his laser musket and brushing by the ghoul to continue down the dark path.

* * *

Evelyn tried her absolute best to focus one hundred percent of her attention on the path ahead of her, she really did; but something about Hancock’s reaction to her joke bothered her. He didn’t seem like the type to be possessive or jealous… but his bitter expression spoke volumes. 

The thought of her and Preston having sex made him angry.

That realization spun around in the ravenette’s head until she forcefully shoved it down and narrowed her eyes on the darkness. It felt like the trio walked ahead forever, following the twists and turns of the path until finally they saw lights in the distance. She quickened her pace as much as she could while still looking for traps — and skidded to a halt when she realized the tunnel widened into an opening. If it hadn’t been for Preston grabbing her arm and hauling her backwards, she would’ve stepped right into the light and possibly been seen. He pulled her back into two sets of arms, both of which encircled her safely; now three pairs of eyes peered out into the opening to see…

A church. Or, a room that was decorated like one. Like the church above ground would’ve looked like had it not been ruined by the bombs. Several people milled about, some chanting lowly under their breath, others cleaning or going about normal business. All of them were dressed in religious robes. “What… the…  _ fuck,”  _ Hancock muttered. 

Evelyn frowned. “Zealots. Like we thought. How come I’ve never heard of them…?”

“I don’t know, but this looks bad,” Preston replied in a hushed tone. “Is there any chance of radioing the Minutemen for back-up?”

As the two men let her go, Evelyn tried contacting Sturgess through her radio, but to no avail. Could’ve been because they were underground… or maybe radio interference. Either way, they were alone. She hoped Dogmeat found a safe place to hide and wait this whole thing out. “Did either of you see Deacon?” she whispered.

Both men shook their heads. Evelyn’s expression darkened. “If they hurt him, I swear to god…”

Preston set a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Deacon’s annoying, but he’s tough. So tough that I  _ almost  _ want to believe him when he says he’s as old as you. He’s okay.”

Evelyn bit her lip.  _ Let’s hope you’re right,  _ she thought miserably, turning her attention back to the situation at-hand. There were at least six people that she could see, a few of them sitting in pews, one by the altar, a couple in the back cleaning the floor, and another sitting in meditation in a corner. For a brief moment, she considered her usual go-to option of trying to talk it out with these people. She didn’t like taking lives; she was a nurse, a healer. But Evelyn thought of what these assholes had done to High Rise and the synths… what they  _ might  _ do to Deacon… and she knew what had to happen here.

“I’ll go for the ones toward the front, and you two split up and share the rest,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how big the rest of this place is — but I’m positive that once the rest of these cowards hear us, they’ll come running. Be ready for a helluva fight, boys.” With that, she made sure a shell was in the chamber of her combat shotgun and took a step forward —

—  _ snap. _

Evelyn prepared to leap backwards, away from the blast even though she knew it wouldn’t be far enough... but she felt a strong pair of arms surround her and she was thrown forward instead, twisting and landing on top of a warm body. 

_ BOOM.  _ She felt blazing heat singeing her boots and she curled into the person underneath her, hoping against hope that the flames wouldn’t engulf them; a loud, deep rumbling shook them all and Evelyn finally lifted her head to see the mouth of the tunnel collapsing — and she just so happened to be on the other side of the cave-in.

Right in the middle of the underground chapel.

Everything happened at once. The chapel burst with action, with gunfire erupting and fire from the explosion eating away at the pews nearest the entrance.

A quick glance below her told Evelyn that Hancock had been her savior, yet again. How many times had he watched her back, now? And how many more times would he save her life? Focusing on the present, Evelyn lifted her head once more. She and Hancock were thankfully protected by a toppled-over pew, but fire was beginning to consume the far end of the pew so they would need to move soon. And where was Preston??

That was when she realized that the gunfire was focused not on Hancock and herself, but at a large boulder that had rolled out from the entrance’s collapse. And behind that boulder was Preston, back to the rock and a grimace on his face. He was trapped there… one wrong move and he’d be riddled with bullets. 

She had to help. 

A groan from beneath her caused Evelyn to shift, brows furrowing as her eyes met Hancock’s face. He looked… dazed. Upon further inspection, she saw red blooming on the back of his head… “Shit,” she muttered, quickly grabbing a spare shirt from her back-pack and ripping it. He must’ve hit his head pretty hard when he landed on the pavement… Wrapping the makeshift bandage around his head, she grabbed his tricorn hat which had fallen off in their stumble, put it on his chest, and began dragging him away from the burning end of the pew. Spotting her combat shotgun on the floor a few meters away, Evelyn peeked over the edge of the pew to get a visual on the room; it seemed that these zealots, no matter how fervent they were their gunfire, were somehow afraid of close-range fighting. They made no moves to come any closer — why? Was it paranoia? 

Either way, she had to get her primary weapon. As soon as she got her hands on it, she’d find some way to get closer to the enemy; perhaps then she could exploit their fear and get rid of them quickly. Crawling over Hancock, who was fading in and out of consciousness, Evelyn skittered across the floor on her hands and knees, snatching up her shotgun and hastily scooting back toward cover — thankfully she had been able to get her weapon without being shot, but now the gunfire was on her. Bullets were quickly ripping apart the wood; sinking lower and lower until she was practically laying on the ground, Evelyn’s eyes met Preston’s. Beseeching him. Without an exchange of words, Preston knew immediately what she wanted; this wasn’t the first time they’d fought together, not by a long shot, and they both knew the others fighting style quite well by now. With a firm nod, he leaned up and began firing at them — and luckily, on the first shot, took one of the robed bastards down. 

Resisting the urge to hoot and holler in a cheer, Evelyn settled for giving him a thumbs-up from her position and beginning to make her way down the pew, remaining behind it for cover. Preston, taking the full brunt of the attack now, began maneuvering between crouching for cover and firing with his laser musket; he was a damn good distraction, that was for sure. Evelyn was able to begin making her way around the back end of the room without so much as a single bullet in her direction. Then again… she was good at this. Very,  _ very  _ good. In fact, she liked to say she’d somewhat mastered the technique of sneaking up on an enemy and taking them out at close range. It made her a very good partner for Preston, who favored long-range attacks with his laser musket. 

There were four left by the time Evelyn got to them. Inching around a cluster of lockers used for god-knows-what, she pumped the fore-end of her combat shotgun, turned off the safety, and rested a finger on the trigger. The one nearest to her was so close that with a few steps she could just knife them — but that would leave her vulnerable to the gun-fire. No… she had to think this through. Even if she was able to quickly take out two of them, and that was _ if  _ she had a steady enough aim to get two one-hit kills, that would leave her wide open to the remaining two.  _ ‘Damnit,’  _ she hissed. This would be no good. 

She didn’t like to use them — and who knows what the damage would do to the cave… but desperate times called for desperate measures. Grabbing a disc-like object from her pack and arming it, she carefully placed it as far in front of her as she possibly could without being caught before slowly beginning to sneak back the way she came. Once Evelyn was far enough away that she felt she’d be (mostly) clear of the blast, she stood up from behind her cover and began making shots. She knew the shotgun blasts likely wouldn’t hit, considering she wasn’t close enough, but she didn’t need to hit them.

She just needed to get their attention. 

_ ‘Just a little to the left…’  _ she urged desperately as she began darting around the area, ducking behind pews and other objects; anything and everything she could do to get them to follow. After a bullet whizzed by her cheek, just barely searing her skin, the ravenette grew frustrated. Were they really  _ that  _ afraid of getting close? How many fucking bullets did they have?? Why couldn’t they —

**BOOM.**

Evelyn was thrown backwards, right into a jagged rock wall. The first thing she noticed as her hazy vision cleared and she began recovering from her disorientation… was pain, searing up her spine and throbbing in her head. The next thing she noticed was the  _ smell. It was awful.  _ The odor of burning, rotting flesh filled her nostrils — and the worst part was that she wasn’t even sure if it was the enemy’s… or her own. Her vision began blurring again; she immediately recognized her current condition as a concussion. Her back and head were the worst affected… but her legs were tingling too, and she wasn’t sure if it was due to the explosion or the impact on her spine. 

_ “General!”  _

Preston’s warbled, floating face appeared in front of her and Evelyn blinked several times in an effort to get him to hold still. “Did it work?” she asked faintly.

“They’re gone,” he replied seriously. “But you’re… you’re not okay.”

“It’s a concussion, Preston.” Evelyn, upon reaching up to grab his shoulder, found that her range of motion was severely limited. The impact on her spine had left her whole body in a state of shock… but she remembered what they were doing here and a fervent rage filled her, stirring her back into action. Attempting to sit up, she protested, “I just need —” 

“I don’t know WHO you people are,” a voice boomed from the front of the room, “But the destruction you have caused in this holy place is  _ deplorable.” _

Both Evelyn and Preston turned their shocked gazes toward the owner of the voice — a bald man in robes that matched those of his brethren. There was something about this man, however, that seemed different. Evelyn immediately knew, even with her vision fading in and out, that this man was the leader of this group. Despite the pain reverberating through her body, Evelyn was so overcome with anger that she found herself yelling at him. “TELL us what you’ve done with our friend, you piece of shit!!”

“.... Ah. That annoying man kept telling us that someone would be coming to rescue him… but, well, he’d told us it would be an army of trained super mutants — not two puny humans and a useless ghoul.”

Despite the severity of the situation, Evelyn rolled her eyes. Did Deacon have to be a compulsive liar  _ all the time? _ Before she could tell the bastard not to say a single fucking word about Hancock, the bald man spoke once more. “I hate to take your lives. All human life is… sacred. But you have taken human life, therefore yours is… forfeit.”

“What about High Rise?!” Evelyn growled. “He was a HUMAN and you BUTCHERED him!”

“He protected an  _ abomination,  _ therefore his life was  _ forfeit.” _

“You mean a  _ synth,”  _ Preston confirmed, his grip on his gun tightening. “What makes you think their lives are worth any less than ours??”

To hear such a sentiment from Preston was almost jarring. Evelyn had made it no secret her opinion on the Railroad and on innocent synths who were being hunted by the Institute; but to hear Preston defend them in such a way was… 

“They are  _ abominations,”  _ the bald man spat. “They are  _ machine  _ — not meant to mingle with humanity! They are the result of mankind’s  **_sins_ ** _.” _

Despite the weakness in her arms, Evelyn’s abject horror and  _ anger  _ tightened her grip on Preston’s arm. He finally turned his head to look back at her with widened eyes. “Kill that goddamn psychopath,” she growled lowly.

And everything went black.

* * *

Preston wasn’t sure how this was going to play out. He may not have been outnumbered, but he had two unconscious people to protect while his opponent had nothing to lose. Plus… something about this man unsettled him, although he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. 

Carefully sliding Evelyn down to lay prone on the ground, Preston hefted his laser musket and stood, turning to face the group leader, who hadn’t moved an inch from his spot at the altar. “Well? Aren’t you going to take my life?” he asked challengingly, face contorted into a grim expression.

“Tell me everything you know about the Railroad and any synths they may be hiding, and I may decide to forgive your intrusion… and all the damage you’ve caused.”

“Not a chance.” Winding up the musket, Preston lifted it to eye-level and took aim. “How about  _ you  _ give our companion back, and I kill you anyways?”

Even from thirty feet away, Preston could see the grin that curled the man’s lips. It was the first time his enemy had done anything other than stand there and stare at him. It was almost… chilling. If he hadn’t been watching the man like a hawk, he might’ve missed the subtle movement of his hand, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing something. “Drop the weapon or I shoot!” Preston warned.

_ “You should have already done it.”  _

Suddenly the man was taking whatever he’d grabbed and stabbing it into his leg. A syringe of something, no doubt — and then Preston nearly dropped his musket in shock. The man’s whole body was suddenly…  _ glowing.  _ Why, he didn’t know. HOW, he didn’t know. And how to combat it, he sure as hell didn’t know. 

But he had to protect the General.

Scurrying to pick up his musket, he began firing. Wind up, fire; wind up, fire; wind up, fire — but all of the lasers bounced off of the grinning man like he was made of pure energy himself…  _ how was this possible? _

Preston’s most trusted weapon, the weapon he had the most experience with, the weapon that had gotten him through thick and thin, the weapon that had  _ helped rebuild the Minutemen,  _ was useless.

Tossing it down, he stooped to grab the next weapon closest to him — Evelyn’s combat shotgun. So this would be a close-range fight; Preston was no expert with close quarters combat, but he had to do  _ something.  _ Preston started for the glowing man, but skidded to a halt when he shot a beam of energy at his feet. Shocked, the Minuteman stared. This maniac was a literal  _ conduit for laser energy.  _ Preston had never seen anything like it. Heart hammering in his chest, he began weaving through pews, making it as difficult as he possibly could for his opponent to get a hit on him; but it was only a matter of time before lightning struck, and Preston wouldn’t be able to make any headway in getting close enough to strike. This was a cat-and-mouse game… and  _ he was the mouse. _

As Preston began zig-zagging toward the back of the room, trying to gauge if this villain had a limit to how far he could extend his energy, the man began to give chase, finally moving from his spot at the altar. He was so awash with energy that he  _ levitated  _ off the floor, merely floating in Preston’s direction. As his enemy got closer, Preston twisted to try and take aim with the shotgun, only to find himself careening backwards… after having tripped over the pew behind him.

His back hit the floor and the shotgun skittered across the floor, out of reach. Pain bloomed in his shoulder and he gasped for air, unable to catch his breath; and in moments the man was on him. Now that he was up close, Preston could see just how horrifying he looked; this man… he was not human. There was nothing human about the way crackling white-blue energy hummed under every pore, replaced the hues of his eyes, expelled from his fingertips. 

“Tell me what you know about the Railroad,” the man threatened, voice reverberating through the room. He even  _ sounded  _ like electricity, now. “and I’ll make this as painless as possible!”

Preston shifted, brows furrowing. If he had to die for his convictions…  _ so be it.  _ “In the words of the General,” he said resolutely,  _ “fuck you.” _

Pain arced through his bloodstream, blooming from a spot in his shoulder, and he vaguely thought he smelt the burning of flesh. He wanted to throw up.  _ Why couldn’t he throw up?  _ In the distance he heard agonized screaming — and suddenly he realized that was  _ him.  _

Finally the pain relented and sweat poured into Preston’s eyes as he tried to focus on the demon hovering over him.  _ “Tell me where the abominations are!”  _ the demon demanded with a voice like thunder.

The pain, apparently, had temporarily blinded Preston. He hadn’t noticed what was happening behind the demon and thankfully it hadn’t, either. “Behind you,” Preston whispered.

**_WHACK._ **

Behind the body that thudded to the ground stood Hancock, wavering on his feet with dried blood on his forehead. Underneath his tricorn hat was a makeshift bandage stained with the stuff. He stared down at the body with narrowed black eyes as he dropped the heavy piece of rubble he’d used to knock the man down. 

“Who the fuck are you callin’ useless, you piece of trash?”


	8. Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG:
> 
> "Inside," by The Klyma.

> _**Come rain or shine You’re all I see,** _
> 
> _**For me you’re all I see;** _
> 
> _**You're the other part of me.** _
> 
> _**I** _ _**f I close my eyes I can see your smile,** _
> 
> _**Cause even a broken smile can shine.** _
> 
> _**If your eyes if your eyes don’t shine, can I see your smile...?** _
> 
> _**Inside my soul where the beat is uncontrolled,** _
> 
> _**You'll have your place.** _
> 
> _**I** _ _**’m loving the girl with the broken smile.** _
> 
> _**Inside my soul where the dreams are made of gold,** _
> 
> _**You'll have your place...** _
> 
> _**I’m loving the girl with the broken smile.** _

* * *

Preston was initially so stunned by what just happened that for a long moment he just stared at the body with wide eyes. Finally, when his gaze shifted up toward the ghoul responsible for saving his life, the Minuteman’s slack-jawed mouth slowly closed and he looked him over. “You look like hell.”

“And you smell like a feral took a shit on a flaming Brahmin,” Hancock replied without missing a beat, a smirk curling his lips as he extended a scarred hand to his companion. “That any way to talk to the guy that just saved your ass?”

After another moment’s pause Preston allowed a hint of a grin to curl his lips and he accepted the hand, letting the ghoul help him to his feet. More pain bloomed in his shoulder and he clutched it with a grimace. Hancock’s brow-line furrowed. “Is Evelyn alright?”

Preston’s gaze went over to the unconscious woman, still laid next to the wall where she’d fallen. He frowned. “I don’t know. She’s alive, I know that much… but when she fell, the rock hit her spine. Hard.”

“Shit,” Hancock cursed, stumbling over to her and collapsing at her side. Bending over her, he put a hand to her cheek, trying to wake her. “Shit. I don’t have a Stimpak. Come on, Sister… Wake up.  _ Please…” _

As Preston hobbled over to them, still clutching his burned shoulder, he watched not just Evelyn, but Hancock, too. After a few moments of observing, all the pieces finally clicked into place and his brows raised in surprise.

_ Well no wonder he was so irritated when Evelyn joked about having sex with someone else.  _

“So when are you gonna tell her?” Preston asked without thinking.

Hancock glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. “The hell are you talking about?”

“That you’re in love with her.”

“You’re outta your goddamn mind.” The ghoul turned his attention back to the ravenette, who didn’t seem to respond. She was out cold. Hancock’s distress was nearly palpable, so in an effort to distance himself from the fretting ghoul  _ and  _ to be useful, the Minuteman decided to head toward the opening he noticed on the opposite side of the chapel to search for Deacon. Carefully depositing Evelyn’s shotgun by her side and picking up his laser musket from the spot he’d dropped it, Preston adjusted his hat and shoved a Stimpak into his leg to help with the pain before diligently setting about his task. 

The opening he’d found narrowed into a one-man tunnel and wound downwards and to the left, before opening up into a larger hallway that branched off in multiple directions. “This is gonna take all night,” he muttered with a sigh, beginning his search. He began branching off to each door he found, opening them to check and finding them empty. As he persevered through the mundane task, he thought back to the look on Hancock’s face. He didn’t know him very well at all, but it was clear from the way he looked at the General that he deeply cared about her. And when Preston had asked him when he was going to tell her he was in love with her… the ghoul hadn’t denied the charges laid against him. He just acted in disbelief; like he didn’t know what to think about the accusations.

Preston wasn’t sure what to think about it all, himself. The General was a kind and charming woman, one he was sure would easily be able to pick whomever she wanted to date even with the scar over her eye… why would she choose a druggie ghoul from Goodneighbor — one of the dirtiest, lowest settlements in the Commonwealth?

Almost immediately Preston forced those thoughts out of his head. Was that any way to think about the man that had just saved his life? With a simple WHACK to the villain’s head, no less? The climax of the fight had been laughable, for sure; but Hancock had proven himself on this journey.

He wondered if the General felt the same about this ghoul as he felt about her.

Finally, one door held Preston’s query inside. Unfortunately, it also held three enemies inside; all of which immediately took aim and began firing. It took all of the Minuteman’s strength and reflexes to get out of dodge, duck behind the doorway, and hit the panel to make the door slide closed. Preston waited a few moments, hastily throwing together a game-plan, and made a move to open the door back up — only to hear grunting and slamming on the other side of it.  _ What the hell was going on in there? _

The door opened and Preston instinctively raised his rifle to blow the enemy’s brains out — only to find Deacon standing there grinning at him and hefting a laser rifle over his shoulder. “Thanks try-hard,” he said, clapping the man on the shoulder as he passed by. “Got me out of a real jam there.”

“You’re thanking  _ me?”  _ Preston spluttered, following behind him. Deacon had a confident gait, but it was clear from the very carefully hidden limp that he was indeed injured. Whether from the fight he just had or some kind of torture, Preston had no idea. Still, he caught up to the other man and offered an arm for him to lean on (which Deacon ignored).  _ “I  _ didn’t do anything back there!”

“Oh no no no. Until you came in, I had three muzzles pointed at me. I couldn’t even cough without them threatening to pull the trigger. You’re the real hero here.” Deacon’s casual smile was almost unnerving. How could a tied up, unarmed man take out three armed opponents with nothing but a little distraction??

Then again…  _ this was Deacon. _

The duo headed back toward the main chapel; Deacon’s pace seemed to quicken a bit when he saw Evelyn and Hancock over by the far wall. “Is she alright?” he asked the ghoul as he approached. Preston was quick to come behind, wincing every so often from a sharp pain in his shoulder. The Stimpak definitely helped, but there was no insta-healing a burn like this. 

“I don’t know,” Hancock muttered grimly. “She still hasn’t woken up.”

“Don’t worry your ugly little head,” Deacon assured the ghoul as he crouched by Evelyn’s unconscious body. “She’s a tough old croon. Never seen anybody like her. She’ll make it. Unfortunately they took all of my supplies when they kidnapped me, and I don’t know where they are. We’ll just have to get her out of here and back to a settlement so we can patch her up.”

“First things first, we’ve gotta make it out of  _ here,” _ Preston suggested. “I doubt that there were only nine of those zealots here. Problem is — I don’t know the way out. Our way in here has… well,” he finished, gesturing toward the cave-in.

“Oh, there’s more, and they’ll be coming back at some point,” Deacon agreed. “I second Stiff’s suggestion. I know another way out — a way these zealot bastards used when they hauled me down here. Saw them coming in and out of it. Like little ants. You guys get her up and get the hell out of here. Go back the way you went to rescue me. There are other tunnels that way that lead above ground.”

Preston paused, brows furrowing. “What about you?? If we leave without you, the General is going to be pissed. You’re the whole reason she came down here.”

Deacon gestured to the body of the priest nearby. “I want to investigate him. There was something…  _ off  _ about that guy and I want to examine the body to see what it is. I’ll catch up with you guys; I promise.”

“If we leave you behind and something happens to you, Evelyn will never forgive us,” Preston replied vehemently, puffing up with anger. “Do what you’ve gotta do. We’ll wait. But hurry.”

Deacon seemed to consider for a moment; after casting a quick glance at Evelyn’s body on the ground, he nodded and limped over to the body of the villain Hancock had defeated. Preston’s gaze moved between Deacon as he carefully lowered himself beside the body, and Hancock who tended to Evelyn worriedly. It wasn’t too long before Preston noticed the Railroad Agent stiffen up. “What is it??” Preston demanded.

Deacon’s voice was uncharacteristically faint. “He’s a synth.”

Hancock hadn’t spoken until now; but his raspy voice piped up.  _ “What  _ did you just say, Glasses??”

Deacon finally glanced back at them, holding up something in a napkin; squinting at it, Preston realized just what that was and his eyes widened. “You’re shitting me,” the Minuteman muttered in shock.

“Watch your language, righteous pants,” Deacon teased, but the look on his face was oddly grim. Lowering the small mechanical chip and tenderly covering it in the napkin for protection, he sighed. “I thought something was off about these people. I don’t know whether their leader was the only synth or if all of them are… but all we can do now is try to figure out what the  _ hell  _ is going on.”

“This is a whole bag o’ shit we unpacked,” Hancock growled. “You think these assholes have any connection to the Institute?”

“Only one way to find out,” Deacon answered with a grunt as he gingerly hauled himself to his feet. “I’ll take this chip to Desdemona. Have it analyzed. Let’s get Ev and get the fuck out of here.”

Both Deacon and Preston moved to help Hancock lift Evelyn off the ground, but the ghoul waved them off insistently.  _ “I’ve got her.” _

He pulled the woman into his arms, carrying her bridal-style; Deacon led the way with Preston watching vigilantly beside him, while Hancock carried Evelyn behind them both. As they walked, Deacon leaned over to Preston and muttered quietly, “He’s got it  _ baaaad.” _

Preston only nodded.

* * *

They all somehow managed to make it out with a bit of effort and, thankfully, no more fighting. However, this other entrance put them above ground about a half mile away from the church; Deacon volunteered to retrieve Dogmeat while the rest of them found a small abandoned shack to take a short rest. Although he knew Hancock wanted to carry Evelyn himself, Preston moved to help the ghoul settle her on the ground because he looked like he was about to pass out himself. That blow to the head had been nasty; Preston had no idea how the ghoul had been able to even stay conscious, much less carry her out of that underground maze.

“You should rest —” The Minuteman began but Hancock was already busying himself searching every inch of the half-ruined shack for any sort of supplies. Preston already knew what he was looking for and also knew he wouldn’t stop until he had either found something or exhausted his search; so with a sigh, Preston began looking along with him. But of course either the shack was truly empty or this place had been looted long ago. There was nothing here. Preston was also out of Stimpaks, but he did have a Med-X syringe — it wouldn’t heal her wounds but could at least possibly prevent her status from getting any worse. It would do until they could get her some proper care. Snatching the syringe from his coat pocket, he crouched by Evelyn’s body and pulled the protective case off the needle and took her arm, slowly pushing it into her skin. Pushing in the plunger until the purplish liquid was gone, he carefully put the casing back on to make sure it didn’t injure any passerby (a habit of the cautious and careful man), and set it aside. “That’ll help prevent her from getting any worse, at least,” he said softly. 

Hancock in the meantime had sat down next to the unconscious woman, spreading his legs out and leaning back against a wall. After Preston administered the Mex-X, the ghoul carefully pulled her halfway into his lap, one arm draping over her shoulders protectively as his head tipped back tiredly against the wall.

Preston quickly analyzed the ghoul and pursed his lips. “You should let me take a look at that head injury,” he said. “You probably have a concussion. You should rest, but don’t fall asleep. That won’t go well if you really do have one —”

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ Hancock insisted lowly. “She’s more important, anyways.”

Preston sighed. After a moment of silence, he said, “thank you, by the way. For saving my life.”

A lazy grin curled the ghoul’s lips as his eyes drifted closed briefly. “And here I thought I’d never hear anything like that outta you.”

“That’s Deacon you’re thinking of,” Preston replied with a half-smile. “I know how to be grateful.”

“Right. You’re not arrogant, you’re just a hardass.” Hancock’s voice was rough, almost accusatory, but that grin was still there. 

“Hmph. I’ve had to be. Living life as a Minuteman after Quincy was… tough. Trying to convince people that I just wanted to help… it took a lot. Thankfully, I found someone who was willing to help me rebuild. And now we’re stronger and more unified than ever.” As he spoke, Preston glanced down at Evelyn and smiled slightly.

“Save me the sob story,” Hancock retorted, but all the hardness was gone from his voice. He followed Preston’s eyes to the unconscious woman in his lap and his gaze softened even more, expression so tender that it looked odd on his scarred, rough face. “She’s somethin’, ain’t she?”

Dark eyes flickered back up to the ghoul. “So how did she pick you up?”

A raspy chuckle came from the ghoul’s lips. “Actually… she was pretty hesitant to have me tag along. Not sure why. I insisted on joining her.”

“Why?”

Hancock shrugged. “Gut feelin’ I guess. My instincts told me I needed to follow her, wherever she went… and I’m the typa guy to trust my instincts. And frankly,” he continued, a faraway look in his coal-colored hues, “my gut was right on this one.”

* * *

When Evelyn’s eyes opened, the first thing she saw was the under-chin of her ghoul companion. God, her body hurt. Every inch of it. When she tried to move, her back screamed in protest and a whimper came from her before she could bite it back. Suddenly his shifted slightly underneath her and a new wave of aching pain spasmed down her spine; she watched as the ghoul tipped his head down to look at her — and immediately his eyes widened in shock and his whole expression brightened considerably. “Hey there, Sunshine,” he rasped, relief flooding his voice. 

Warmth spread from her core all the way through her limbs, leaving her skin tingling in the most pleasant way despite the pain originating in her spine. Evelyn couldn’t help but smile back up at him and — with effort and some more spasms — she reached a hand up to touch his cheek, fingers drifting up to brush over the bandage she’d wrapped his hand in. “How’s your head?” she asked weakly. 

His smile broadened; but she could see the concern in his dark eyes. “You can barely move and here you are askin’ about me instead.”

A sly smile curled Evelyn’s red lips as she gazed up at him. “You were  _ worried  _ about me,” she teased. 

He squirmed uncomfortably. If ghouls could blush, Evelyn thought, he would definitely have been blushing.  _ Could  _ ghouls blush? The heat she felt under her palm certainly seemed to answer the question. Before he could reply, she asked, “where are the others?”

“Preston’s taking Dogmeat for a walk. Deacon decided to go ahead and head back to… ‘HQ?’ Whatever that is. He said you’d understand.”

Evelyn sat up forcefully, the sudden movement causing her to cry out in pain. Startled, Hancock set a hand on her shoulder to support her and narrowed his eyes on her. “You shouldn’t go around movin’ like that, not when you’re this injured. You got a death wish, Sister?”

“Deacon shouldn’t be traveling anywhere alone!! We almost lost him once and it was hell to try and get him back —” she protested with a growl, trying to get to her feet, but Hancock set steady hands on her shoulders, keeping her right where she was. Despite the pain blooming through her whole body with each struggle she made, she continued to try and fight him off so she could go after him.

“It’s pointless! He left  _ hours  _ ago. We couldn’t stop him. He was determined to get that chip to someone named ‘Desdemona’ to get it analyzed —”

She whipped her head back to stare at him with fury reflected in her ice gray eyes.  _ “What chip??” _

_ “Oh,”  _ Hancock blinked several times as realization hit him. “You were unconscious when it all happened… right.” 

Before he could explain, two figures emerged into the shack; Preston, shouldering his laser musket dutifully, and Dogmeat, bounding up to the sitting couple with a furiously wagging tail. Settling right in Evelyn’s lap, he began licking at her face eagerly; biting back the groan of discomfort when her body was jostled by the shepherd, she put on a smile and scratched behind his ears, giving him all the attention he’d been aching for. Hancock glanced over at Preston, saying, “you wanna tell her what happened with that… thing??”

“What thing — oh.” The Minuteman’s brows furrowed and he frowned. “I — well… the leader of that cult… he was… well, he was a synth.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened.  _ He was a… synth.  _ “A synth… who believed other synths are abominations,” she breathed, shuddering. “Or — did he even  _ know  _ he was a synth…? I… I have so many questions.”

“We thought it was weird, too,” Preston answered gravely. “That’s why Deacon wanted to head to the HQ immediately. He’s going to get the chip he found analyzed. May give us a lead on the Institute’s plans and activities.”

Evelyn was still reeling from the news. She ran a hand through her hair out of habit and attempted to gain control over her whirling thoughts; if this chip could get them some information on the Institute, then maybe… maybe it could get her a step closer to finding Shaun. She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder and her eyes lifted to Hancock, who was watching her with concern. “We have to get to the Headquarters,” she insisted fervently. Almost desperately. “We have to go  _ now.  _ That information could lead me closer to…”

“I know,” he responded, voice uncharacteristically soft. “We need to get you some help, first, though.”

She shook her head, attempting once again to stand up, causing Dogmeat to slip out of her lap. He sniffed the air, darting off; after giving them both an uncertain look, Preston went after the shepherd. Evelyn, still struggling to stand, was vehement about leaving.  _ “No.  _ We need to go  _ now  _ —”

“If you push yourself too hard, you’ll  _ die,”  _ Hancock admonished in a growl, retaining a firm grip on her shoulders. “I can’t —” he hesitated —  _ “we  _ can’t lose you, okay? So let’s just get you up to Sanctuary and you can use your little Pip Boy there to contact Deacon for updates. I know you want to find your son… but you can’t find him if you’re  _ dead.” _

For a moment, Evelyn considered arguing anyways, despite knowing he was right; her desperation to find her son urged her to go after Deacon, her current status be damned. But Hancock  _ did  _ have a point; how could she take on the Institute and rescue her son if she was dead…? The thought of not getting to him as soon as possible had tears welling up in her eyes and she tried to blink them back. Hide them.  _ Don’t show your tears to anyone. _

A hand came up, thumb brushing over her cheek to wipe the stray tear that stubbornly slipped its way out. When Evelyn met Hancock’s gaze, she found warmth and reassurance in his expression. “You know what my personal motto is?” he asked softly. “When someone needs helpin’, we help ‘em. When someone needs hurtin’, we hurt ‘em. Your son needs help… so we’re gonna help ‘im. I guarantee it.”

Despite her sorrow, she couldn’t help but smile. And there it was again — that heat, that comfort, that wonderfully sweet burn that filled her stomach and made every inch of her light on fire. They were relatively alone, although she could hear Dogmeat and Preston nearby; her gaze drifted to the ghoul’s lips, wondering for the hundredth time what it would be like to feel them. Taste them. Would he taste smoky, like a cigarette? A delightfully bitter burn, like bourbon? Deceptively sweet, like wine?

She knew he could feel it too, because the hands on her shoulders slowly and carefully glided down her arms, leaving goosebumps all over her skin underneath her uniform; the way the ghoul touched her was gentle, almost in awe; as if she was a holy relic he was afraid to break. Her hands found their way back up to his cheeks, stroking the rough skin as she shifted closer, pain be damned. They were trembling, with both fear and anticipation, wanting so desperately to close that small distance, and yet…

_ “ _ —  _ Oh!  _ General!” The voice of Preston broke the two from their little bubble and Evelyn immediately pulled back, suddenly finding herself short of breath. Preston came back in the shack, glancing back to make sure Dogmeat was trailing behind him, and quickly rifled through his coat pockets. “Earlier when I was walking with Dogmeat, we found a place nearby that looks like it could be a good settlement. Problem is — it’s crawling with ferals. But I did manage to search one of the houses there and found a Stimpak. Here. It should help until we can get back to Sanctuary and let someone have a look at you. If I remember correctly, one of our new settlers is a doctor. He can help.”

Hancock reached to take the Stimpak and pulled the protective casing off the needle, carefully inserting it into Evelyn’s arm. As the medicine flowed through her, she could feel the pain fading, being replaced with something that felt like a cool river flooding her whole body. Immediately she felt much more at ease; with the ghoul’s help, she slowly got to her feet. The going would be slow, she was sure of that, but at least she was able to walk on her own. Grateful gray eyes moved between Preston and Hancock. “Thank you both,” she said sincerely. “I would be dead if it weren’t for you.”

Leaning down with a little effort, she gave Dogmeat a scratch on the ears and a bright smile. “And  _ Deacon  _ would be dead if it wasn’t for you! Good boy, Dogmeat.” At that, the German shepherd wagged his tail, ears perking happily.

“This place is on the way to Sanctuary,” Preston added as the trio and their animal companion set forth in a northern direction. “We shouldn’t stop long and I certainly don’t think we’ll be able to clear all of those ferals out, but I’d at least like to mark the place down so we can send some folks out here. It was definitely large enough to make a great settlement.”

* * *

When they encroached on the border of the area Preston had mentioned, Evelyn had to admit, he was onto something. This place was spacious and had a large warehouse in the center of it that would be perfect for a community hub. “Sunshine Tidings Co-Op,” a large banner on the side of the warehouse announced as they inched closer. Upon further examination, she could also see all the ferals her companion had mentioned; a few of them were pacing around outside in the open, but most of them, as she scanned the place, were in the circle of dilapidated houses. “We could at least clear out that warehouse in the center,” she suggested quietly. “Perhaps there’s something of use in there that we can take with us.”

After coming to an agreement, they snuck out from behind a half-ruined house and began centering in on the large warehouse. Any feral along the way was met with the butt of Hancock’s shotgun or Preston’s musket; they avoided firing shots so they wouldn’t attract attention from the others, and it was a good tactic. Other than the few wandering aimlessly outside, the group was unbothered. When they made it to the edge of the warehouse, a robotic voice gave Evelyn pause and she held the others back from barging inside.

_ “Groovy… … … Far out…!” _

Evelyn peeked inside, brow raised. “It’s a… Mister Handy?” she hesitantly said. 

“Never met a Mister Handy that sounded like that,” Preston muttered. Evelyn carefully limped out from around the corner and waited for the little robot to notice and attack. Only it never attacked; hell, it never even noticed her. It just drifted around aimlessly, muttering the same nonsensical babble. 

As the others joined her inside the open building, Dogmeat seemed to run toward the robot, sniffing it curiously, before settling back on his haunches and watching it drift around while tilting his head back and forth. Hancock stared at the little robot with a half grin on his face. “I don’t know what kind of setting this thing is on, but I can dig it.”

Evelyn chuckled. “I wonder how he got here. Why he’s programmed this way.”

“Maybe that terminal can give us a clue,” Preston suggested, motioning to a desk on the opposite wall. Evelyn hastened over to it, still limping and walking rather stiffly, and moved to hack into it. Accessing the terminal wasn’t difficult, and within moments she was inside, reading and shuffling through the files.

“Wow, this little guy’s had it rough,” she muttered as her eyes scanned the screen. “Looks like this place used to be run by a group of people who went around ‘freeing’ Mister Handies from their ‘slave owners.’ This one was one of them — but it was so intent and desperate to get back to its owners that they had to ‘zoink’ his brain, as they put it, and put him into a mode called ‘just be.’ His name is… Professor Goodfeels.”

Evelyn couldn’t stop the giggles from coming out; before she knew it she was practically belly-laughing and Hancock joined in.  _ “Professor Goodfeels,”  _ she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye. Once she was able to compose herself, she said, “he’s got other modes I can switch him to, but I’m afraid of what may happen if we do.”

“I kinda like him the way he is,” Hancock countered smugly. “Digging the world as it is; floatin’ around, owing nothin’ to nobody… he’s got the perfect life.”

“You know, that’s exactly how these folks put it,” Evelyn said wryly, backing out of the terminal and straightening up with some effort. “I wonder if they take as much Jet as you do.”

“If they do, I’ll bet my nose there’s a hidden stash ‘round here,” the ghoul replied, eyes glinting wolfishly. “When we come back, I’ll be sure to find it.”

Evelyn chuckled again, lifting her arm to mark the location on its map. “I’ll make damn sure we come back. But you know, I’ve got my own stash of Jet back at Sanctuary.”

The excitement that filled Hancock’s eyes was almost childish. “I’m gonna assume that’s an offer to partake in said stash.”

Her grin widened. “Perhaps. That depends on how well you behave.”

It didn’t take a genius to see the effect  _ that  _ had on the ghoul. She could practically hear the  _ boi-oi-oing  _ as his shoulders stiffened up, eyes widening in shock before narrowing in an almost predatory look. “You gonna put a leash on me now, Sister?”

Evelyn stuck her tongue out at him playfully. “You look like you might  _ like  _ a leash.”

Only Preston’s irritated groan broke the two out of their banter and Evelyn smiled sheepishly as she headed toward one of the warehouse exits. “Sorry, Preston.”

“I’m not,” she heard the ghoul mutter from behind her as they all continued heading north.

Destination: Sanctuary.


	9. Fire Woman / Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** SPECIAL NOTE!! — by this point in the story months have passed since the first chapter. It doesn’t seem like it but all the on-foot traveling the group has done takes many days to do, so including all of the traveling, that’s my approximation of how much time has passed. **
> 
> ** CHAPTER SONG:
> 
> "Fire Woman," by The Cult.
> 
> "Fire Woman," by David Segall.
> 
> "Trust," by Tremonti.

**Old Pre-War photo of Evelyn Pressley.**

* * *

> _**Bring me the flame and set on fire  
>  All that I crave and I desire.  
> Illumine the way that leads me to  
> A river of peace.  
> Come to my door and with your key;  
> Unlock my heart and you set me free.  
> Write on the pages of my mind...  
> Your story surreal.  
>   
> Fire woman, show me your face...  
> Fire woman, take me away.** _
> 
> _**\---** _
> 
> _**Give me instruction!  
>  Give me a target and a cause.  
> Lend me destruction, because...  
> Because it's okay  
> Because my past, it was a lie.  
> It's never too late to try!** _
> 
> _**So put your trust in me,  
>  So I can show you how  
> To leave you past behind;  
> So I can make you mine...  
> ** _

* * *

It had frankly been a hassle to get Evelyn to look away from her Pip-Boy long enough for the settler doctor to examine her. She’d been insistent on contacting Deacon as soon as they got back, and it took Hancock, Preston, _and_ Codsworth to convince her to let the doctor have a few minutes with her. The doctor, a settler named Marcus, had his work cut out for him with helping Evelyn, Hancock, and Preston; after getting them all sorted and arranging them in a spare house in Sanctuary, he ordered them to get some rest; Evelyn of course was reluctant to do so but Preston seemed to be the voice of reason and forced them all into their beds for a good night’s sleep.

Evelyn wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she finally woke up, but it was early evening — just as it had been when they’d finally arrived back in Sanctuary. She imagined a full day had passed… but she couldn’t be sure. When she sat up, her body felt a bit stiff and achey, but her injuries were doing a bit better. She even wiggled her newly stitch-free shoulder; Marcus had taken the liberty of pulling them out. He’d complimented whoever had done the work and it had brought Evelyn’s mind back to that encounter in the Hotel Rexford. There would be a permanent scar on her shoulder, but it’d also be a permanent reminder of meeting Hancock. 

That thought, oddly enough, brought warmth to her cheeks. 

Immediately Evelyn brushed off the memories and brought up her Pip-Boy, attempting to contact Deacon. After some static on the other end she thankfully heard his voice. Their conversation was exceptionally brief, and had her jumping out of her bed and moving into the next room quickly. “Hancock! Hancock!” she exclaimed, plopping on the edge of his bed and shaking his shoulder urgently.

“Mmmm…. Always thought that you’d be underneath me when I heard you sayin’ my name like that…” he rasped, slowly rolling over onto his back sleepily. 

Evelyn’s body tensed up immediately, every inch of her covered in goosebumps. Was it the words… or the tone he used? Or maybe it was the fact that _that_ was the first thing he said upon waking up. For a while, it seemed she’d been able to be her normal self around him; bantering, teasing, joking. But it seemed that nervousness had control again; she could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest as dark eyes languorously looked her up and down, drinking her in inch by inch. Evelyn wasn’t sure her mouth had ever been so dry… and that _something else_ had ever been so puckered. She parted her lips to speak, but found herself utterly and completely breathless.

Hancock’s scarred lips quirked into a half-grin. “Good to know I can still have that effect on ya, Sister.”

She pursed her lips and her brows furrowed. His grin widened. “So what’s so urgent that you had to come and wake me up? — Not that I’m complainin’. Certainly could get used to that face being the first thing I see when I open my eyes.”

Again Evelyn found herself unable to speak. Despite the easy grin on his face and the sleepy yet sly look in his eyes, she also found something earnest there — something… scary. It felt _real. Intense. A roaring fire that made her feel warm and safe yet exhilarated and breathless._

_What had she come in here to say…?_

She was broken from her thoughts by a hand coming up to brush a lock of dark hair from her face. That touch was like ice, shattering her little bubble of warmth and leaving her wallowing in guilt. How could she be thinking of romance at a time like this?? How could she be thinking of _anything_ other than _finding her son?_

She pulled away abruptly, standing up and trying to find her words. “I, uh... heard back from Deacon.”

* * *

Even as he gathered up his things, took a few Mentats, and loaded some shells into his shotgun in preparation to leave Sanctuary, Hancock couldn’t seem to take his mind off of the way Evelyn pulled back from him. Initially, it had been confusing, and though he’d been able to brush it off and pretend like he didn’t even notice, it had hurt. They had a connection; surely she could see that? What was holding her back?

But when he’d thought more on it, he’d quickly realized the reason. It had been right in front of his face, glaringly obvious, a slap-in-the-face reminder of the entire reason she’d come to Goodneighbor.

_Her son._

It was probably the intellectual high the Mentats gave him, especially after a day or two of being relatively drug-free, but the ghoul found himself thinking more clearly than he had in quite a while. He surmised that Evelyn probably felt… well, _guilty._ Her first priority was her son, and he imagined she felt guilty for being distracted from her goal of finding him.

On the one hand, the thought of himself being nothing more than a distraction to her did more than hurt his pride. It hurt _him._ Sure, he’d been rejected before, or led on then dumped (not often, but it had happened), and it stung. Sure. But this was _different._ This woman meant something to him, and he’d felt that he meant something to her, too… 

God. Why was he even thinking about all of this? What happened to Mentat highs where he envisioned entire armies of octopi invading the shore, or TV dramas involving a handsome ghoul detective and his raunchy blonde assistant, or inventing crazy but useful contraptions that would help the citizens of Goodneighbor? Since when did his ‘intellectual’ ramblings involve… _her?_

“You know… you don’t have to go,” a voice said, interrupting his self-beration. Without even looking at her he knew it was Evelyn. Arching his brow-line, the ghoul finished loading some extra shotgun shells into a pouch at his hip and clipped the gun onto his belt.

Finally he turned to look at her. His head tilted slightly; she was leaning stiffly on the doorway, avoiding his gaze. Leaning sideways a bit, he tried to lower his head to meet her eyes — unsuccessfully. “Why wouldn’t I want to?” he asked coyly.

She squirmed. He could practically _see_ her anxiety. “Well — we’ve just… been through a lot these past couple of weeks. I know it’s exhausting and I don’t want you to feel forced — …”

Hancock felt a surge of emotion — a mixture of amusement, pain, anger, surprise — and he interrupted her with a wave of his hands as he took a step forward, a bitter smile curling his lips. “Woah, woah, woah. Do you remember when I told you why I wanted to come along with you?”

The ravenette’s eyes wandered the floor nervously. “You said it was… a gut feeling. An instinct.”

“I knew what I was getting into when I asked to come —”

“— when you _demanded_ —”

“ — fine, when I _demanded_ to come along.” An overwhelming urge came over him; the urge to touch her. It seemed this urge gnawed at him anytime she was around. To squash it, the ghoul stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept them there. “Either way, I’m _with_ you on this journey you’re on. Wherever you go, I want to be there. To help. To get my hands dirty, put in the work, re-learn what it’s like to live on the road. I was on my ass too long in Goodneighbor… and you… well, you’re…”

Evelyn’s gaze flickered up to meet his and the intensity of those lovely gray hues was… startling. “I’m what?” she asked quietly.

Hancock stared at her for a long moment. Finally he yanked his eyes from her and gave another easy smile, before brushing by her and out the door. “Come on. We’ve got some synth data to analyze, Sister.”

* * *

Evelyn had spent more of the journey to Boston than she would’ve liked thinking about her conversation with Hancock; more importantly, _what he had been about to say._ A part of her had been desperate to ask him what he wanted to say, but the other half was grateful that he seemed even more focused on their mission than she was. So she spent the rest of her time going over what Deacon had told her and trying to dissect the short conversation in every way possible. What she’d learned was this: the Railroad had gained some information from that chip, that urgent action needed to be taken immediately, and one name appeared in all the encryptions: 

_Kellogg._

That name sent rage burning through her veins. When she found that bastard… _he would pay._

_He’d pay with blood._

* * *

“Good to see you in one piece, Agent RX,” Desdemona greeted with a wry smile as Evelyn and Hancock came down the stairs and entered the small underground complex. Des’s eyes darted over to the ghoul warily. “A companion of yours?”

“He’s trustworthy,” Evelyn insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

Desdemona seemed to stare at Hancock for a moment longer before finally relenting and motioning for them both to follow her. “I’ll let Deacon fill you in on what we’ve learned. And Evelyn,” she continued, briefly stopping and turning to her with a serious expression. “— thank you. For saving Deacon.”

Evelyn smiled slightly. “It was a team effort. You know we don’t leave a man behind.”

Desdemona nodded. “No man left behind.”

Approaching Tinker Tom’s work station, Evelyn turned her attention to Deacon, who, other than a few scratches and bruises, looked good as new. A smile curled her red lips. “Glad you made it here okay. I would have never forgive myself if I —”

“Yeah yeah, but I made it here safe! All is well in the world. Or, well, sort of. Not really at all, actually. But I’m safe, you’re safe, burn victim here is safe, and the Railroad has gotten some juicy stuff outta this guy.” Deacon gestured to the terminal; on it were encryption codes, stuff too complicated for Evelyn herself to understand. “Courser routes, courser identification numbers, the locations of some synths they’re tracking — of course we didn’t pull this outta this guy’s memories. Memory-wise, he didn’t know a thing, it seems. He didn’t even know he was a synth. He was put in the Commonwealth with a designated memory and personality — the reasoning isn’t made clear but I’ve theorized from the data we’ve collected that he’s a… essentially, a courser himself. A courser designed to take some heat off the Institute and get the Railroad’s efforts focused elsewhere. Now that I know what’s really going on… I almost feel bad for the guy.”

Evelyn’s face fell. “When you put it that way…”

Deacon folded his arms over his chest, his expression surprisingly grim. “Yeah. It’s pretty sad. But… _now for the juicy part_ — we saw some mentions of Kellogg in the data files — but we noticed that, weirdly enough, part of this data chip has _organic_ properties to it.”

“... He had a _brain?”_

“In a sense, yeah. This allowed him to attain additional memories in an organic way to more closely resemble a human. That’s how a lot of the newest-gen synths work — the weird part is that those memories are entirely organic so there’s no way we can access them on a terminal.”

“So you’re saying… the information on Kellogg is in those… ‘organic’ memories.” Evelyn was trying to follow along. She knew the Railroad had technology, but nothing that could simply pull memories out of a human brain. Was there anything on the planet that could do that? Was Deacon getting her hopes up for nothing? Would —

“We can’t access those memories here on Tinker Tom’s terminal, but I know of a place where they _can.”_

_Oh, thank god._

“The Memory Den,” Hancock piped up in realization. “It’s the only place in the Commonwealth where that kinda sci-fi shit is possible.”

“Ugly’s right,” Deacon replied almost chipperly, taking a small pristine-looking chip from Tom’s terminal and bagging it up. “So… guess who’s taking this chip to Goodneighbor and finding a way to get those memories off of it?”

“I am,” Evelyn replied confidently, taking the chip from him and carefully putting it in a pouch at her hip. “Thank you, Deacon. This… this might just help me find my son. I… I’m forever in the Railroad’s debt.”

“You can thank me by taking those bastards out of the picture and making the Commonwealth a safer place for human, ghoul, and synth alike.”

“That’s a tall order,” the ravenette replied with a wink, “but I can guarantee I’ll do my damndest.”

As she and Hancock said their goodbyes and thanked Desdemona for the supplies they were given, Evelyn thought about how the hell they’d get those memories off that chip. “It’s a _chip,”_ she muttered, mostly to herself. “We can’t exactly insert it inside a human brain… and it won’t work on any ordinary terminal… so —”

“So the Railroad is real,” she heard Hancock murmur, disrupting her thought process. As she glanced sideways at him, she found the ghoul looking rather pensive. “It’s as real as my goddamn thumb. And you’re part of it.”

Evelyn felt warmth rise to her tanned cheeks. “It was more of an accident than anything,” she replied. “You know the Trail of Freedom?” 

“Heard about it. Also heard anyone who tried to walk it got gunned down by Super Mutants.”

“I almost did,” Evelyn admitted. “By the time I reached the church I was about to bleed out.”

Hancock smiled humorlessly, coal-colored hues piercing her. “You’ve got a habit of putting yourself right in the middle of danger. I can’t believe it’s _me_ of all fuckin’ people who is saying this, but — ya ever thought about… _dialing it down a little?”_

Evelyn’s instinct was to chuckle, but she saw the grave look in Hancock’s eyes and bit it back. Something about his admonishing statement sobered her up and she glanced away, unable to keep his gaze for too long. “I suppose it’s just… my impulse. To _jump in._ I spent many years as a nurse in the military and it bred that battle instinct inside of me. Married life and having a child put my mind into a sort of hibernation for a while — but coming out of cry to… to _this place…_ and finding my son gone and my husband _dead_ … I-I guess my military brain finally woke back up. What was your motto again? If someone needs helping…”

“... We help ‘em,” Hancock finished, the smile growing warm. “I get it. But… well, I also worry.”

Something about his expression brought that odd tingling warmth back to her and Evelyn eyed him for a moment, finally deciding to ask. “What were you about to say? Back at Sanctuary? You never told me what I am.”

His brow line rose in surprise — Evelyn had gotten quite good at telling when the ghoul was flustered, and apparently she’d just caught him red-handed. “Listen,” he began, voice taking on an overly casual, nonchalant tone, “all I’m sayin’ is that if you die, my adventuring comes to an end, and I’m not about to go back to Goodneighbor just to sit on my ass. Ya feel me?”

Her lips curled into a wry smile. “I feel ya.”

Hancock adjusted his jacket uncomfortably as they journeyed, one hand as always keeping itself on the shotgun clipped to his hip. He sure did think he’d gotten away with it, hadn’t he? It was cute, the way he was side-stepping her questions like this — and also annoying. Then again, could she really blame him? _She_ had been the one to pull away from him. Every time. At the Third Rail, she’d pulled away from their intimate dance; in that cave, she’d pulled out of the comfort of his lap, and a few days ago at Sanctuary, she’d pulled away from his caressing fingers. 

There was one thing Evelyn knew for sure: John Hancock was a good man 

But she couldn’t dwell or act on her growing feelings for Hancock when her son needed to be found and vengeance needed to be had. 

Right…?

“So this chip,” Hancock began, eyes now beginning to dart about to watch for danger, “we’re taking it to the Memory Den without any real way of getting the memories off of it. I was thinkin’ on it as soon as Glasses said somethin’ about it — if this guy was a synth, maybe we need a _synth_ to decrypt it. Maybe Nicky could —”

Evelyn’s face lit up. There it was — the answer to what she’d been incessantly pondering the moment they left HQ. She stopped, gripping onto the ghoul’s sleeve and looking up at him in awe. “You’re a genius,” she exclaimed. “That’s a brilliant idea. We — we have to back-track —”

She could practically see the heat rising to the ghoul’s cheeks at the unexpected and enthusiastic compliment, but he seemed to adjust himself and regain his usual charisma pretty fast. “Woah woah woah. Diamond City is way outta the way. Whaddaya say you just ring up our old pal Nick on your Pip-Boy and have him meet us in Goodneighbor?”

Her smile widened. “Another brilliant idea.” When Evelyn finally tore her gaze away from her traveling partner, she stiffened up at the sight of their surroundings. They were smack dab in the middle of Boston, staring at a large radioactive pond. Old swan boats laid abandoned in some of the scattered gazebos, and pieces of the rest were strawn about the lake. 

However, in the middle of the water, sat a lone swan boat, fully intact. Something about it, the way it sat so solemnly atop the still water, was… unnerving. 

“I feel like I remember some passerby mentioning this lake while I was in Diamond City,” Evelyn breathed, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene. 

“Swan Lake,” Hancock confirmed grimly. “Never been here. But somebody told me never to touch the —”

**_“Huh? Who’s there??”_ **

_Shit._

* * *

The last thing they needed was _more goddamn Super Mutants._

And after what had happened in Goodneighbor, the destruction these green fuckers had caused, Hancock was filled with an unholy rage at the mere sound of their voices. Immediately a scarred hand unclipped the shotgun from his belt and he grabbed Evelyn’s arm, dragging them both back against the wall of the building behind them; away from the open space and away from the water. _“Fuck,”_ he muttered. 

Evelyn didn’t look afraid or wary; she looked as angry as he felt. Lifting her head off the wall she peeked at the adjacent building. “I think I see… four,” she muttered, pulling her own shotgun from her belt and pumping the fore-end. “They will be annoying. We have to figure out some way to get close enough to take them out without… well, you know, killing ourselves.”

“Want me to pull out the trusty ol’ distraction technique?”

The ravenette snorted. “Too risky.”

“Maybe you can pull out the handy-dandy Psycho, then.”

Enraged eyes shifted over to Hancock and he just gave her a wolfish grin in the face of her indignant fury. It was _damn_ cute when she got all flustered like that. “What happened to _dialing it down?”_ she countered unexpectedly.

“Well — I —” the ghoul spluttered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “A-Alright. How about I come at ‘em from the front and you go around the back of the building to mow ‘em down?”

She pursed her lips. “You think there’s any way we can slip by without alerting them at all?”

The ghoul shifted his gaze to watch the lake, eyes narrowing as he analyzed their surroundings. “We could maybe go around the lake — but it’ll be risky. And if they see us sneaking away we’ll be too far away to hit them. Either way, we’re in a mess.”

A hiss came from the ravenette’s lips and she glanced over at the adjacent building where one of the super mutants came out of the doorway wielding a hunting rifle and looking around suspiciously. As soon as it turned in their direction, Evelyn seemed to act on instinct; before Hancock could do anything, he felt her grab him with her free hand, shove him into the pile of rubble nearby, and throw herself on top of him. Grabbing the corner of a tattered floor rug that stuck out of the door, she yanked it over them. He could hear a sharp intake of breath from her; that probably wasn’t pleasant for her still injured shoulder.

He’d been thrown to the ground by Evelyn Pressley before, and Hancock could say whole-heartedly that this situation was very, very different than the last. Where his instinct last time had been to push her away, his arms automatically wrapped around her to draw her closer this time. Without a whole town to worry about, this danger seemed so much more… _exciting._

Perhaps he should have been scared, or angry, or uncomfortable. But he could only smell the sweet scent of the shampoo from the curls of her hair that tickled his ear, he could only feel the heat of her body, feel the _softness_ of her breasts pressed against his chest. It was dark, and they were close; the ghoul could feel her hot breath on his chin and see the very faint outline of her face. He’d imagined this a hundred times, and despite the obvious danger of the situation they were in, those thoughts began blooming in his head. The urge to claim her lips was nearly overpowering. 

“You've got to control your breathing, or all of Boston will hear you,” she suddenly whispered, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Kinda hard to do that when I’ve got the most beautiful woman _in_ Boston pressed against my crotch,” the ghoul rasped, licking suddenly dry lips and trying to slow his pounding heart.

The small, hushed laugh that came from her was dizzying, intoxicating, charming, infuriating. How could she be laughing at a time like this? When they could be killed at any moment and he was fighting a confusing, raging boner?? “Damn you,” he muttered — before holding his breath and becoming as still as possible as the Super Mutant’s heavy thudding footsteps drew closer.

Being this still, this quiet, the ghoul could vividly feel the pulsing of his cock in his pants and squeezed his eyes shut to fight it off. Was the danger _really_ making him even _harder? How fucked up was that??_

To his dismay, Evelyn leaned down, pressing against him more fully — and bringing her lips to his ear. _Jesus mole rat sauce…_ did she want to kill him??? Because if he got any more aroused he might die. Her whisper in his ear sent a ripple of shivers down his spine. “When he gets closer… sneak your shotgun out from under the rug and _fire.”_

He understood. Sneak attack, got it. But it was hard to focus on where the Super Mutant was when all he could think about was getting their clothes off and plowing her right then and there. 

Another thought occurred to him: why the _hell_ was he thinking about sex when they hadn’t even _kissed_ yet?

When… when she pulled away every time he tried…?

Well _that_ was enough to sober him up a bit. One of the arms that had slipped around her snuck down to the ground beside him and a steady hand took hold of his firearm, a finger curled over the trigger and ready to fire.

**_Thud. Thud. Thud._ **

_Now._

**_POW._ **

Hancock couldn’t really see to aim, but the stupid green brute had been so close that he was sure the shot hit. Sitting up abruptly and causing the rug to fall off of them, he quickly gauged the Super Mutant’s status and put another shell right between its eyes. 

**_“Huh?? Brother, what was that?!”_ **

Hancock’s wide eyes darted to Evelyn, who was now essentially straddling his lap; and while he was still _very_ much aware of that fact, they were now no longer under the protection of the rug and that voice was alarming. “We have to go now, if we still want to have a chance of —“

“— got it,” Evelyn finished, abruptly getting to her feet and offering him a hand. Hancock took it and she hauled him to his feet. Analyzing their surroundings, the pair began sneaking around the right side of Swan’s Lake, using whatever they could find for cover — and all the while Hancock’s eyes kept moving back to the eerily still water. It just didn’t _sit right with him._

_What was in that water??_

The two let out a collective breath when they were able to get around the entire lake without any interactions — only for Hancock to yelp in surprise and pain when a bullet whizzed by him, slicing into his thigh. “Shit! Shit! Find cover!” He growled, burning pain searing his leg as he hobbled after Evelyn, who threw herself into one of the gazebos near the water’s edge. The bullets continued to litter the entire area — the spray and pray method, a favorite of sub-machine gun users, which made Hancock wonder if they were dealing with gunners now. Surely the Super Mutants heard the commotion and would be joining in the fight, too.

_This was bad._

As he watched the trajectory of the bullets while taking cover and clutching at his leg, Hancock noticed that many of them penetrated the surface of the glassy lake…

And suddenly; the water was no longer still or calm. There was a low rumble as that lone boat out on the water began lifting, and lifting, and —

_“Holy fucking shit,”_ Hancock muttered in terror as he saw the giant monstrosity that rose up out of the water.

_Scratch that. This was REALLY fucking bad._

“Gunners in the buildings behind us, Mutants in the buildings across the lake, and a giant ass monster IN the lake,” Evelyn muttered beside him, slowly crawling over toward him so she could examine his leg. Hands hovered over the injury, fingers carefully adjusting his torn pants so she could get a better look. “That looks nasty, but it’s not life-threatening. The heat from the bullet essentially cauterized the wound as it created it…” Her eyes flickered up to his face, intense and concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Just a little sting,” he replied through gritted teeth. “The bigger problem is how we’re going to get the hell out of here. What the _fuck_ is that thing??”

She turned her head to look out at the monstrosity now stomping through the water. Its attention was on the Super Mutants who’d come out of their building to investigate the ruckus. “Looks like a Super Mutant… who’s extra super,” she said, trying to keep a straight face. 

Hancock grinned, a hand digging down into his pocket. “Well just cause it’s extra super doesn’t mean we can’t _blow its fuckin’ brains out.”_ As he spoke the ghoul drew out a drag grenade. Evelyn’s eyes seemed to widen at the sight of it and her gaze drifted to his face as she put the pieces together. 

“You’ve only got one?” she asked quietly.

Hancock’s brows furrowed. He didn’t like the look on her face — the look that said she was cooking up some sort of crazy ass idea that could get her killed. “Yeah… why??”

She bit her lip his eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. “Well,” she began, “if we’ve only got one grenade, we’d better make it count, right??”

Hancock’s expression darkened. “If you’re plannin’ something that’s gonna get yourself killed, forget about it. Maybe those Super Mutants will take that thing down and we won’t have to lift a finger.”

She glanced back at where the Super Mutants had met up with the Swan Mutant and were duking it out; one of them had already fallen, and the others seemed to be torn between fighting and running. The presence of this new threat seemed to scare away the gunners, or raiders, or whoever the hell had shot down at them from the buildings behind them, because all gunfire from those buildings had ceased. They were a threat to be dealt with or avoided later, but for now, the main focus was that terrifying beast. “It’s gotta be as big as a goddamn Deathclaw,” Hancock muttered, staring at it. As his attention turned back to Evelyn, he found her looking intently at the grenade in his hand, wheels turning in her head. 

And suddenly she took it from him without warning. “If I’ve only got one shot at taking this thing down, then I’ve gotta get close enough to make sure the frag hits it where it hurts. But I don’t know how I’ll be able to get that close without alerting it…”

Hancock shook his head immediately. “That’s _way_ too dangerous,” he began, brow line raising in shock even as he spoke. Had he really said that? Since when did he become a worry wart? That was Preston’s job, right?

Thinking on it further, the ghoul realized that if it had been anyone else’s idea, he would’ve been foaming at the mouth with eagerness to try it. It wasn’t his personality that had changed; it was simply his growing feelings for Evelyn that was swaying his opinion. Lips pursed, his countered, “I’ll do it.”

“Not with that leg, you won’t. I’m going to have to scale up that thing’s body like a monkey. But I don’t think those Super Mutants are going to last long enough to be a good distraction.”

The ghoul considered for a long moment. Finally: “... I’ll distract it.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened and immediately she back-pedaled, shaking her head. “Absolutely not! You —”

“I can’t climb that thing like a tree, but I _can_ run around, holler a little, and keep its attention off of you,” Hancock cut her off firmly, voice leaving no room for argument. His lips slowly curled into a smile, expression growing warm. “Don’t you trust me, Sister?”

The ravenette pressed her lips together, staring up at him with glassy gray eyes. “... with my life,” she eventually answered, her voice soft.

“Then let’s get up and at ‘em. Hell, the more I think about it, the more I’d rather kill this thing than try to sneak away. We’d be doin’ the whole Commonwealth a favor.”

As he tried to get to his feet, Evelyn pressed a hand to his chest and stopped him — and when he met her eyes, he found her staring at him imploringly. Her voice was surprisingly wavering as she spoke. “Please be careful…. _Please.”_

Swallowing the sudden lump in his throat, he shook himself out of his immobilization and gave her a shaky nod. 

And then it was time for action.

Grabbing his shotgun and getting up, the ghoul analyzed the scene to find the Super Super Mutant picking off the last of the other mutants. This had a good chance of going to shit, but he was willing to risk himself if it meant that this ugly bastard would be out of the picture and Evelyn (and multiple others) would be safe. After making sure he had two shells loaded in the chamber, he pumped the fore-end and carefully climbed out of the other end of the gazebo, making his way far from Evelyn. He watched as the last mutant went down; his pace quickened into a run as he splashed through the water as loudly as possible. “COME ‘ERE YOU UGLY FUCKER!” he yelled over the loud drumming of his heart in his ears. 

Which became impossibly louder when the monster turned its attention on _him._ Hancock had faced many horrors in his life, but this giant, looming beast had his heart in his throat. The roar that came from it awoke a fight-or-flight instinct inside the ghoul and for a brief, fleeting moment, his whole body urged him to run away from the danger, not _toward it._ Telling his body to _shut the hell up,_ he began running toward the buildings the Super Mutants had emerged from and turned to back-pedal, aiming the barrel of his gun at the advancing creature. **_BOOM. BOOM._ **

“You didn’t like that, did ya?!” the ghoul taunted loudly as the beast clutched at its chest and roared in discomfort and anger; eyes darted over to make sure that the creature’s back was turned toward Evelyn and she was safe to make her way closer — and coming closer she was. It wouldn’t be long before she was ready to climb the ugly fucker and plant that bomb. Grinning widely up at the Swan Mutant, he said, “COME AT ME YOU PIECE OF — _oh, shit!”_

It took every muscle in his body reacting just in time to throw himself out of the way as the beast’s large, meaty hand came crashing down — right into the half-crumbled building itself. Large chunks of rubble tumbled to the ground and it was all the ghoul could do not to be crushed by them. Scrambling to his feet, Hancock found his hands empty — and as he looked down to try and find his shotgun, the Mutant roared and slammed its fists down again.

Pain bloomed in his whole body, shooting upwards from his leg.

And everything went black.

* * *

_“HANCOCK!!!”_

Evelyn was hardly even aware of how loud her scream was as she watched the building come down. The ghoul was quickly buried in the chunks of brick and concrete and her heart jumped into her throat and she blinked back quickly forming tears. _She couldn’t think about him, not right now, not when she had to kill this thing. She couldn’t think about how he might be…_

Adrenaline was rushing and her body jumped into action without even thinking about it; jumping on the Giant Mutant, she used the little Swan Boat on its back as footholds to climb her way up its large, malformed body. Pulling the pin on the frag grenade, holding on, and trying to stuff it under one of the ropes around the beast’s neck was tricky, but she managed; and she jumped off, barrel-rolling along the ground to soften the blow, and got the hell out of dodge as fast as she could.

**_BOOM._ **

Evelyn didn’t even bother to look. The heavy _thud_ of the giant’s body hitting the ground was enough to tell her that it had worked. Her plan had worked. And Hancock…

_Hancock…_

Panic arose; whether it was driven by the adrenaline or simply her fear of losing him, the ravenette felt bile rise in the back of her throat and swallowed it down. She barely registered as her body began moving of its own accord, turning toward the building, tripping over her own feet as she hastily approached it, and beginning to look through the rubble desperately for him. “Hancock! _HANCOCK!”_ she yelled, choking on her own tears as she began moving the smaller chunks, whatever she could lift, tear-filled eyes fervently searching for any sign of him. The lack of an answer was horrifying — _if she lost him…_

_‘I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.’_ The line rotated through her mind, a mantra of absolute desolation. There were no higher thoughts, no analysis of the situation, no doubts carefully picking apart her wants and desires and fears — there was only instinct, screaming at her to _find him. Save him._

By the time she found him, tears had blurred her vision to the point where all she noticed was the bright red of his patriot’s coat; using strong, newly-healed legs and a bit of effort, she kicked a particularly large chunk of brick wall off the buried body. “Oh God,” she vaguely heard herself saying, her own voice sounding as if it was far away. “Oh, God. Hancock. _Hancock!”_

Collapsing at his side, Evelyn wrapped one arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, using the other hand to check his pulse. Relief flooded her like cool spring water as she felt that weak but steady thrumming under her fingers… Sobs erupted in her chest and no matter how she tried to force them back, her whole body shuddered with them. The thought of him being _dead…_ The ravenette forced air into her lungs, a hand coming up to wipe her eyes free of tears — only for something to catch her wrist. Blinking furiously as droplets ran down her cheeks, she saw hazy black eyes opening to gaze up at her warmly. “Look who’s cryin’ over me,” he muttered, his hand releasing her wrist to come up, tenderly smearing her tears with his thumb. 

“You just — _shut up,”_ Evelyn cried; still acting on instinct, she leaned in and claimed his mouth with her own, conveying the myriad of emotions through that kiss. Shock tensed his shoulders briefly — before the ghoul melted into her touch, free arm moving around her body to draw her into him as the hand on her cheek caressed her skin eagerly. Heat flooded the ravenette’s body and adrenaline was pumping fresh, albeit for a completely different reason. Riding high on relief, she leaned further into the kiss, lips moving fervently against his own as his hand slid around to the back of her neck, fingers curling in her dark hair. 

All the times she imagined kissing him couldn’t compare to this. He tasted smoky, musky, _natural._ Like an age-old glass of whiskey from before the war. His lips were intoxicating — _he_ was intoxicating. When his tongue slithered out to run almost desperately over her lower lip, she eagerly granted him access, her tongue waiting anxiously to duel passionately with his. One arm still wrapped around his shoulders while the other hand clutched his shirt in an iron grasp, unwilling to let go.

Finally she had to break away, gasping for air; when her hazy eyes met his own gaze, she found an almost predatory intent in Hancock’s eyes. Mixed with that… admiration. This was much more than lust, she could see it all over his face. The intensity of his emotion — and her own — was frightening. Finally the ravenette sucked air into her lungs, sniffling furiously. “I-I saw the building come down… I-I thought I…” she began, lips still trembling — although whether it was from her fear or from his addictive kiss… she didn’t know.

His expression suddenly darkened and he ripped his eyes from her to look away. “My leg,” he muttered, voice wavering. Evelyn followed his gaze to find that his left leg was stuck under another chunk of wall — and it looked pretty bad. When she met his gaze again, opening her mouth to question how the _hell_ he hadn’t felt any pain from that, he grinned ruefully at her. “Desire is a hell of a painkiller.”

Evelyn felt herself coming down from her high, reality crashing all around her — as she shifted back to begin figuring out how to free his leg, the ghoul turned his attention on the rest of the scene. “Looks… like your plan — worked,” he mused, voice hitching with each wave of pain. He had to have been in absolute agony; the restraint and pain tolerance he was showing was unbelievable.

“You’re one tough son of a bitch,” she commented as she began examining his leg. It didn’t look like there were any open wounds — if she removed the piece of rubble, it didn’t look like he’d bleed out. That was a good sign. He would have been doomed otherwise. The thought of him dying filled her mind again and she felt her heart racing — forcing the lump in her throat down, Evelyn took a breath to try and calm herself before pulling a crowbar from her bag and situating it under the edge of the brick. “When I get this thing off… it’s going to hurt like hell. Talk to me about something. It might help to distract you from the pain while I look at this thing.”

Hancock eyed her, appearing much more calm than the situation called for. “I can take a little pain. But, since you’re asking… what do you want to talk about?”

Evelyn got a firm grasp on the lifted end of the crowbar, gray eyes flitting over to the ghoul as a wry smile curled her lips. “What were you going to say, back at Sanctuary? Before we left for the Railroad HQ.”

His face paled. It was almost funny how the ghoul seemed almost completely intolerant to physical pain but could be so easily distressed by the slightest emotional confrontation. Clearing his throat, he looked away from her and seemed to consider for a long moment. Evelyn prepared herself to lift; and slowly, painstakingly, she began using the crowbar as a wedge to release Hancock’s leg. Ironically, he chose the same moment to start talking. “I… I was gonna say that — _argh! Goddamn that hurts like a bitch!”_

Evelyn bit back a slight smile. Her concern for his leg grew as she saw it; while there were no open wounds and thankfully it hadn’t lacked bloodflow for an extended period of time, there very well could’ve been a fracture to the bone with how mangled it looked. Pulling a Stimpak from her bag, the ravenette flicked off the protective casing and gave him a warning look before inserting the needle into his leg just above the knee. He groaned in pain, rummaging hurriedly through his pockets; drawing out some Grape Mentats, he placed a few on his tongue and let the Stimpak do its work. “Whatever happened to those Raiders or who the fuck ever in that other building…?” he wheezed.

Evelyn glanced up and over at the buildings on the other side of the lake. “I don’t know. They haven’t shot at us. Either they left, or they were so impressed with our defeat of the Swan Mutant that they decided not to fuck with us.”

“That’s good,” he muttered, slowly leaning back so that his back rested against some rubble, teeth gritted against the pain she was sure was coursing through his leg. 

“Well?” the ravenette prompted quietly, hoping to get his mind off his injury. 

“It was stupid,” Hancock answered, avoiding her gaze. 

“Now I’m even _more_ curious.” Evelyn’s lips quirked into a half-grin as she tried to move into his line of sight. “We just saved each other’s lives, Hancock. Humor me.”

When his eyes finally met hers, Evelyn was startled by the intensity of the emotion shining behind those dark hues. “I was going to say… that you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me,” he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Her eyes widened slightly. There was a determined, steadfast look on his face… that same emotion she saw every time they seemed to lock eyes. That emotion scared her; what if she lost sight of her goal? What if she got side-tracked… and it ended up being too late for her little boy…? 

The presence of his hand covering her own brought the ravenette back to the present and she shuddered, finally breaking her gaze from him. “I-I… I’m going to need to splint your leg,” she muttered. “I don’t have the supplies, though, and while I could try to make something of use here, Diamond City isn’t too far. Nick could be here in an hour. I need to get you into one of these buildings for some safety in the meantime. That Stimpak I gave you should help with the pain and should speed up the healing process.”

Hancock nodded grimly, brushing off her attempts to help him to his feet. The more Evelyn watched the ghoul in various situations, the clearer it became that John Hancock was a tough son of a bitch — and that he only seemed to show that soft, comforting side to her. As he hobbled into the closest building that seemed mostly intact, Evelyn activated her Pip-Boy in an attempt to reach Nick in Diamond City. It was Ellie who answered, sounding much more cheerful than when they’d first met.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” Evelyn said kindly, unable to help a smile when Ellie spoke so chipperly. “You sound like a woman who’s in love.~”

“Evelyn!” Ellie admonished. The ravenette could practically _hear_ the other woman blushing over the line. “Nick and I are — well, it’s nothing like that!”

“When are you going to tell him? You know, from the way he talks about you, I’ll bet he feels the same. You just have to _communicate.”_

“Oh shush, you.” There was silence for a moment. “I’m guessing you wanna speak to Nick. He’s just looking over some files. I’ll get him.”

After a minute of shuffling, Evelyn heard Nick’s voice on the other end of the line and she felt new tears sprout in the corners of her eyes. _“God, Nick,”_ she sniffled. “It’s so good to hear from you. I want to ask how you’ve been and hear all about what you’ve been up to — but right now I need help. Hancock is injured and —”

“Hancock? As in Mayor of Goodneighbor, Hancock?” Nick’s voice lilted in surprise. “Well, I didn’t peg him for the type to stick around. Figured he’d be back in town by now.”

Evelyn was surprised at the indignant anger that welled up in her chest. Nick was one of her most trusted confidantes — at one point she probably would have agreed with him. Glancing over at the ghoul, who sat resting on a half-destroyed counter inside the nearby building, Evelyn frowned and bit back any snappy retorts. “I would’ve thought so too,” she finally said patiently. “But he’s… well. Anyways. I really need your help. Hancock’s leg is injured. I gave him a Stimpak but that only goes so far — I need to splint his leg until it can get better.”

“Give me your location and I’ll be on my way,” the synth replied steadily from the other end. There was a pause. “I imagine you had other reasons for calling, though.”

“I did,” Evelyn finally replied, her voice grim. “I… I need your help with something important, Nick. I — I may have a way of finding Kellogg.”


	10. Like Real People Do / Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG:
> 
> "Like Real People Do," by Hozier.
> 
> "Words," by Gregory Alan Isakov.

> _**I will not ask you where you came from  
>  I will not ask and neither should you  
>   
> Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips  
> We should just kiss like real people do** _
> 
> _**Words mean more at night  
>  Like a song  
> And did you ever notice  
> The way light means more than it did all day long?  
>   
> Words mean more at night  
> Light means more  
> Like your hair and your face and your smile  
> And our bed and the dress that you wore** _

* * *

“How long do you think it takes to get here from Diamond City…?”

“Not five hours, that’s for fuckin’ sure. You’re positive he said he’d be on his way  _ immediately?” _

Evelyn pursed her lips, glancing worriedly down at Hancock’s injured leg. She’d stabilized it hours ago in preparation for Nick’s arrival with the splint, but the synth detective still hadn’t shown up. He could have been side-tracked by something, but it wasn’t like Nick Valentine to get distracted  _ or  _ to be late. “Shit,” she finally growled, running a hand through her hair and getting to her feet impatiently. Without another word she began looking through the building for anything —  _ anything  _ she could use to get him stabilized enough to get him to Goodneighbor. If nothing else, there would be more supplies available for her to use to help the ghoul. Finding some driftwood, duct tape, and an odd-looking staff that looked like it had come straight out of a fantasy novel, Evelyn took her findings back to Hancock who sat on the lower floor. “This place used to be a comic store,” she commented as she laid out the driftwood beside his leg and tore the packaging off the duct tape.

“Comics? Ya mean like Grognak the Barbarian and all that shit?” Hancock leaned his head back against the wall, grinning from ear to ear. “There’s a drifter I know back in Goodneighbor. Name’s MacCready; he’s a real ass. I mean bonafide  _ bag of dicks.  _ He loved those comics; even traded good shit like chems and bullets for super rare issues he was lookin’ for. I remember sending Fahrenheit out looking for one when MacCready agreed to trade me some exotic Mentats he found in an old pre-war bunker. Fahrenheit was pissed.” The ghoul chuckled as he reminisced, an almost far-away look in his black eyes. 

“Those comics were my absolute favorite,” Evelyn responded quietly with a knowing smile as she situated his leg on top of the driftwood and carefully began the process of taping the splint. “I had every single issue. Nate always found it silly how every housewife in our Neighborhood would religiously read Picket Fences and there I was sewing a Grognak outfit for Shaun on Halloween.”

The ghoul’s eyes twinkled as he looked at her, still grinning crookedly. “Didn’t think of you as the nerdy type, Sister,” he said appreciatively. “Kinda hot if I’m bein’ honest.”

Evelyn’s wry smile grew wider. “Speaking of… are we going to talk about what I felt pressing against me under that rug?”

Immediately Hancock’s grin faded and Evelyn was pretty sure she saw his scarred cheeks turn absolutely pink. He quickly tried to cover it up with another charming smile. “What can I say? Danger’s a turn-on.”

Evelyn shook her head ruefully. “You’re about the flirtiest ghoul I’ve ever met.”

Hancock grunted in amusement. “I’m probably the only one that has the sheer charisma to get a date despite how I look.”

When Evelyn glanced up from her work, her gaze was piercing. How could he say something like that about himself…? Logically she knew the prejudices ghouls faced, both romantically and platonically, but when she looked at Hancock she couldn’t see even a hint of ugliness. “Don’t say that,” she admonished sternly, only getting a laugh from him. “I’m serious!” The ravenette insisted indignantly, smacking the ghoul’s arm. “‘Despite’ nothing. Ghouls aren’t ugly.  _ You  _ aren’t ugly.”

Hancock’s laughter died down and a genuine smile curled his scarred lips. “I’ll call it ‘unconventional attraction,’ then. I guess you’re right. I did manage to snag a dance with  _ you,  _ after all.”

Heat bloomed in Evelyn’s cheeks and she returned her attention back to her work, finishing up the splint with a flourish and nodding approvingly. “That should get us to Goodneighbor. Once we get there I’ll be able to give you another Stimpak. Perhaps the doctor in town will be able to give you a more speedy recovery.”

“Doctor Amari is who we’re lookin’ for. It’s convenient that she’s set up shop in the Memory Den. We can just head straight there. Maybe by that time Nick will be able to meet us.”

With a nod, Evelyn decided to contact Ellie on her Pip-Boy once more, asking about the detective and his whereabouts. Ellie’s voice sounded confused on the other end. “He’s not there? That doesn’t sound like him. Hmmm… well, he has been swamped with cases lately. I’m sure he just got side-tracked. There’s a suspected kidnapping in the Boston area that he was working really hard on. If he comes back by the office, I’ll tell him you’re already en route to Goodneighbor.”

When Evelyn disconnected, she found Hancock already on his feet and ready to go. It was clear he was in quite a bit of pain despite the Stimpak, but he was tough and independent. She doubted he’d let her assist him even if she tried. Giving the decorated staff to him to lean on, she giggled when the ghoul took it. “You’re a wizard, Hancock,” the ravenette teased.

“Then I’ll be the most patriotic motherfuckin’ wizard you’ve ever seen,” he countered with a smug grin as the two collected their weapons and hats and set on their way. Evelyn kept close watch on the buildings on the opposite side of the lake but whoever had been there was truly gone or too scared to shoot, like she’d thought before. Their journey to Goodneighbor, thankfully, was free from any further encounters. When they arrived, the ghoul was greeted like a celebrity — the drifters at the entrance all brightened when they saw him, and he was given more handshakes than Evelyn thought possible. Hancock took it all in stride — grinning in that charming way he always did, treating everyone like an old friend, even if they weren’t. He truly was charismatic. Born to be a  _ leader…  _ and here she was having him trail along with her like some sidekick. Guilt welled up in the pit of Evelyn’s stomach, despite what Hancock had said earlier. He’d told her more than once he didn’t regret joining her — so why couldn’t she just  _ listen  _ to him and stop feeling so  _ bad? _

Kindly and politely, Evelyn tried to cut the conversation short so that she could get Hancock to the Memory Den — the sooner he got some assistance with that leg, the sooner he’d be out of pain and start healing from his injury. As they passed through Goodneighbor, she noticed that all the rubble from the State House had been cleaned, and other than the incredible absence of that monumental building, the town was back to normal —  _ flourishing,  _ even. A sideways glance at the ghoul beside her told her he was taking it all in, too, and she made a mental note to check in on him later.

The moment they entered the Memory Den, a blonde woman who’d been lounging on a couch toward the back of the main room stood up, her face practically glowing with joy.  _ “Well my stars —  _ if it isn’t the most handsome Mayor in all of the Commonwealth.~”

“Irma,” the ghoul greeted with a roguish grin. “Still wearing that sassy red get-up. Have you been takin’ care of the place while I’m gone?”

“Doing my best,” the woman replied, sauntering closer. Upon further inspection Evelyn could see faint age lines on her face, although Irma hid them well. She really was beautiful — sultry, even. “Although no one’s here to take care of  _ me,  _ now.~” as she spoke, her hand came up to rest on the ghoul’s chest, index finger making little patterns on his shirt. The way she was looking at him, all pouty lips and glimmering eyes, sent a hot, tight ball of anger straight into Evelyn’s stomach. She quickly and perceptively recognized the emotion as jealousy — but  _ why? _

Well, she  _ knew  _ why, but she didn’t want to admit it. 

The ravenette did well to hide her expression, using her legendary poker face. Nate had always said that Evelyn was a master of the neutral expression, and it seemed to come in handy now, too — although to be fair, Irma hadn’t even looked her way. The blonde was too busy making goo-goo eyes at Hancock.

The ghoul laughed; suave and charismatic as opposed to the genuine, hearty ones Evelyn had heard before. Carefully taking Irma’s hand from his chest and grasping it gently, he said, “is Amari in the back? Gotta get my chem fix. You know me.~ And my lady friend here has some important questions to ask.”

For the first time Irma looked away from the ghoul to focus on Evelyn, her shrewd eyes narrowing slightly; then she gave her a wide smile. “Of course, darling,” she said to Hancock, still staring holes through Evelyn’s face. Finally she turned her gaze back to her query. “I thought you liked  _ blondes,  _ my dear Mayor.”

Hancock stiffened — Evelyn could see it in his shoulders — but his charisma and easy smile was as practiced as her own. Irma didn’t seem to notice as the ghoul said, “I like  _ people,  _ Irma. Especially the one standing behind me.” Letting her hand go, he gave her a small wink as he began to pass by. “Good to see ya, doll. Glad to know Goodneighbor is in capable hands while I’m off on my adventure.”

* * *

Evelyn was still reeling from the odd conversation in the Memory Den’s main room as she followed Hancock into the back rooms. These were much smaller but were filled with all sorts of equipment, both medical and technological. A woman stood with her back to them; as she whipped around, she looked at them with stern dark eyes. Amari was a tanned woman, probably of Indian descent, with dark hair and equally dark eyes that seemed to pierce Evelyn’s very soul as she looked at her. Instinctively the ravenette moved closer to Hancock, her shoulder brushing his. “She’s scary,” she muttered to him.

A small chuckle. A  _ genuine  _ chuckle. “Not scary. Just…  _ intimidating.  _ Right, Amari?”

Looking him up and down, the doctor set a hand on her hip and pursed her lips angrily. “What have you done to yourself now, Hancock??” she demanded.

“Come on, Amari. That any way to greet your favorite Mayor?” The ghoul chided with a smug grin. 

“Well, with how well Fahrenheit is running things, you might not be my favorite anymore — if you ever were,” Amari scolded, gesturing to one of the medical chairs. “Sit.”

“Fahrenheit…” As Hancock obeyed orders, carefully using his hands to lift his splinted leg onto the long medical seat,he seemed… pensive. And Evelyn immediately understood why. In their journeys he’d talked about the ginger woman a lot — and having met the woman herself, Evelyn could see why Fahrenheit was so important to the ghoul. As Amari set to work examining the splint and beginning to pry it apart, the wheels in Hancock’s mind were turning as he tried to figure out what to say. What to ask.

“Who did this splint??” Amari demanded.

Hancock nodded over the doctor’s shoulder and Evelyn felt herself tense up just a little bit under the other woman’s sharp gaze. Finally that facade cracked and Amari smiled slightly. “You did well, considering the circumstances,” she said, turning back to her work. “I imagine you two were out on the road. Is Goodneighbor a pit-stop or a final destination?”

Evelyn bit her lip. “I — well — the Memory Den specifically was our destination…” she faltered. “H-Have you seen Nick Valentine? He was supposed to… meet us.” 

Amari didn’t cease working, but Evelyn could see her shoulders stiffen. “What is going on here? I imagine you two didn’t come here expecting to have a little trip down memory lane with  _ Nick Valentine _ of all people.”

Evelyn found herself speaking without even thinking — and unloading pretty much everything that had happened since she woke up from her long, icy sleep; including her husband’s death, her pursuit of her son, the chip they’d found, and what they were trying to do with it. By the time she’d finished, Amari was re-splinting Hancock’s leg and the ghoul looked like he had much more color in his face. “It’ll take a day or two, but you’ll be up and running again,” the doctor said gravely, before pushing the ghoul back down when he tried to sit up. “But you need to take the next few days slow. I used a special serum on you, one that greatly speeds up the healing process — but if you don’t  _ take it easy,  _ you’ll end up worse off than when you came in! Is that understood??”

“ _ Yes,  _ Amari — I’ve got it. I’ve got it. No wigglin’ around for a day or two.” As he sat up carefully, Amari helped pull his newly-splinted leg over the edge of his seat. The ghoul nodded in Evelyn’s direction, his expression serious. “So you’re sayin’ you haven’t seen Nicky around at all?”

“Haven’t seen that man in years,” Amari replied gravely, finally turning away from Hancock and leaning back slightly against the counter behind her. Tossing her gloves in the trash, she let out a sigh. “I see what you’re trying to do,” she said to Evelyn, “and I understand the immensity of your goal. However — even if Mister Valentine shows up, I can’t guarantee that this will work. In fact, I can  _ almost  _ guarantee that it  _ won’t.  _ The memory loungers were made for a fully organic brain inside of a  _ living  _ person. Do you two understand how  _ crazy  _ you two sound, asking what you’re asking??”

Evelyn grinned sheepishly. “Well, call me crazy then, because I’ll do anything to find my son.”

Amari’s expression warmed slightly. “Nothing compares to a mother’s love,” she responded. After another moment, she held out a hand. “May I see the chip?”

Evelyn dug through her pocket and carefully withdrew the wrapped-up chip Deacon had given her, handing it over. After a long moment of analysis, Amari finally gave it back. “I will try this,” she answered, “but it will almost certainly fail without Mr. Valentine’s help. If you can get him to meet you here, we’ll give this a shot. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll get a clue on how to find your son.”

Evelyn’s smile grew. “Thank you, Doctor Amari. Now… now I need to find Nick.”

* * *

Hancock had insisted that “they” needed to find Nick together, but Evelyn gave him one sharp look and reminded him what Amari had said. She helped him out of the Memory Den and to the Rexford Hotel where they could stay while they figured this mess out. 

Hancock was trying to sort out his thoughts as he settled into the penthouse room at the top of the hotel; the last time he’d been in this room, Evelyn was the one with the injury. He’d learned quite a bit about the mysterious woman while stitching up her shoulder that day… the same day he’d decided to change his life and come with her.

He popped some Mentats into his mouth and took a hit of Jet as said woman exited the room to speak with Ellie on her Pip-Boy. He shortly heard a fuzzy “oh! It’s you! He’ll be really happy to see you,” and the door opened up. The ghoul’s vision was blurry from the drugs currently running through his system, but he recognized the voice that spoke. He’d recognize  _ that  _ voice anywhere.

“Shoulda known you’d be high off your ass when I came to see you.”

A wide, lazy grin curled Hancock’s lips. “Shoulda known  _ this  _ was what I’d get from you instead of a ‘welcome back, handsomest mayor of all time.’”

Fahrenheit merely crossed her arms over her chest, expression cold, but Hancock knew her well enough to focus in on her despite his wacky vision and see the amusement on her pale face. “I know you’re wondering, so I’ll update you. Goodneighbor is fine. After the attack people dedicated themselves to moving on. We’ve put in some extra defensive measures and business is as good as ever. There were a few fights after the whole battle — people blaming one another for what happened and all that shit — but I set them straight. Folks are missing your ‘inspiring’ speeches, though — I suppose I don’t have quite as much natural  _ charisma  _ as you do.”

_ “You?  _ Lacking charisma? Who’da thought.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Fahrenheit lowered her arms, mouth quirking into a half smirk now. “I’ve gotta go. Some things to take care of. Meet up at the Rail later and get blasted?”

“Just like the good ol’ days,” Hancock chuckled. “If my crippled ass can make it down there, you’re on. Thanks for stoppin’ by, Fahr. It… it was good seein’ ya.”

Fahrenheit turned to leave, then glanced back. “You look well. Better than I’ve seen you in years.”

As she left the room, Hancock lowered his gaze, still grinning. Despite them being in yet another predicament, what with Nick being late and the urgent need to get those memories analyzed, Hancock found that… Fahrenheit was right. He felt good.  _ This  _ was good. This was  _ right. _

Being the Mayor of Goodneighbor was a good gig. Hancock has helped free the people from the oppression of Vic and his goons, and created a place where  _ everyone  _ was welcome. Hell, if he hadn’t been Goodneighbor, who knew if he’d have ever met Evelyn? 

But this journey Evelyn was on — it was something truly meaningful, and Hancock felt  _ right  _ being at her side. It was hard to describe and if he thought about it too much, it really was truly odd — but his gut told him this was still the right decision.

He was disturbed from his thoughts by the presence of Evelyn entering the room, looking perturbed. “Ellie said Nick hasn’t been back. She also told me she doesn’t think it’s anything to really worry about yet… but I can’t help but be worried. She said to give it a day. I don’t know whether I am right to be upset and worried or if I’m just blindsided by my desire to save my son…”

Hancock pursed his lips thoughtfully, watching her pace. Finally he patted the space on the bed next to him and, looking at him uncertainly, the ravenette approached the bed and sat down stiffly. His black eyes wandered her frame; he could see the tension in her shoulders, the stress lines on her tanned skin, the furrowing of her brows which stretched the scar over her left eye. “Look at you,” he said warmly. “To think I ever had any doubts.”

“Doubts?” Evelyn quirked a smile. “I thought I was the picture of confidence.”

Hancock grinned wryly. “You kiddin’ me? You looked like you’d fallen straight outta the Vault the day we met. I thought I’d see you pickin’ your teeth outta the gutter by sun up.” Seeing her confusion, he added, “You, pickin’ a fight with Finn. Not keepin’ your head down and your hands clean. It’s real rare these days to find someone who’s not willin’ to just take things the way they’re handed to ‘em.”

Evelyn’s expression warmed and a genuine smile curled her red lips, now. Those impossibly red, delicious lips. Lips he’d had one taste of — a taste that had left the ghoul desperately craving more. Her voice broke him from his thoughts and he found himself dragging his eyes away from that mouth as she said, “I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t even think it’s a choice. I just… it’s my instinct.”

_ Goddamn this woman. This beautiful, perfect woman.  _ How could the person who seemed to be the exact mirror image of himself be born 200 years ago?? Hancock reached out, taking her hand firmly in his own. “You’re different, Evelyn. Too good for this place. In this world there are too many good people not willin’ to get their hands dirty… and too many assholes willin’ to take advantage of it. Take a look at Diamond City… Before that asshat McDonough took over, it was a half-decent place to live. Little more strict than I usually go for, but not terrible.” At this point Hancock became lost in memories, speaking without really registering what he was saying or the secrets he was giving away. “Hell, I thought he and I had a pretty happy childhood. Decent relationship. But then he decides to try and get elected with his anti-ghoul crusade — “Mankind for McDonough.” Before you know it, you’ve got families with kids lined up to drag folks they called ‘neighbor’ outta their homes and throw ‘em to the ruins.”

The shock on Evelyn’s face gave the ghoul pause and his brow line quirked. “That’s… that’s awful,” she finally said. “I saw that people in Diamond City seemed very paranoid and… well, racist. But I never knew how it happened.” Her eyes drifted up from her own lap to look Hancock in the eye. “Mayor McDonough is…?”

“My brother, yeah,” Hancock answered with a forced casual tone. He’d been so absorbed in the story itself that he hadn’t even realized all he’d told her. He was hesitant now, but not exactly regretful; the ghoul was pretty private about his past and it was difficult to open him up, but if anyone deserved to know… it was Evelyn. “We grew up together in a little shack on the waterfront. Guy was the standard older brother — entitled, punchy, liked to shove rotten tatoes down my shirt and slap my back.”

“His name is  _ Guy?”  _ The ravenette grinned like a Cheshire. “How…  _ original.” _

Hancock couldn’t help but be amused, though his smile was somewhat bitter. “About as original as  _ John,  _ I’d guess,” he replied.

Evelyn’s grin faded just slightly. “So John is your real name,” she said quietly. 

“Yup. John and Guy McDonough. I liked to imagine our parents gave us such dull names to have a sense of normalcy in this crazy ass life. Wanted to pretend we were one of those perfect families you see in the old pre-war magazines.” Hancock let the woman’s hand go, leaning his head back against the wall tiredly. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugs he took or the drugs Amari gave him, but he could feel the energy drain out of him with each sentence. “We had a pretty normal childhood, as normal as you can get in this apocalypse. Guy was a jerk sometimes, sure, but I never thought he’d be capable of something like what they did to those ghouls.”

Evelyn’s face scrunched angrily. “How could they  _ do _ that? I knew that damn settlement was full of racism, but to  _ go that far…” _

Hancock squeezed her hand slightly. He knew what she was feeling, and how strongly she was feeling it; he’d felt it too when it had initially happened… and if he thought about it long enough, he could still feel that searing anger burning in his chest. “There had always been a pretty big gulf between the folks living in the stands and the folks down on the field… McDonough’s campaign was just the match that lit the fire.” His coal colored hues grew distant once more as he replayed that night in his mind’s eye. “I remember storming into his office above the stands after his inauguration speech. He was just… standing there, staring out the window,  _ watching  _ as the city turned on the ghouls. He didn’t even look at me, just said,  _ “I did it, John. It’s finally mine.”  _ I shoulda killed him right then and there…”

Evelyn’s brows furrowed; she had that look of confusion on her face, that same look most everyone gave him when he talked like this. Hancock’s eyes hardened, his expression growing cold and impartial. “Justice is justice, no matter who gets it,” he explained, voice rough. “McDonough may be my brother, but he’s a cold, cruel bastard; one that deserves what’s comin’ to him. Someone needs helpin’, we help ‘em. Someone needs —“

“— hurting… we hurt them,” Evelyn finished with a small nod. It was Hancock’s turn to be surprised; most people agreed to disagree or tried to convince him violence wasn’t the solution, but Evelyn seemed to accept his answer without any reservation. When her eyes met his, he found warmth there — a warmth that made him tingle from head to toe.  _ She accepted him wholly, the good and the bad.  _

Immediately his hard expression melted away and his lips curled into a small, sly smile. “Are we gonna talk about that kiss, Sister?” He finally asked, voice going low.

A blush crawled its way up her tanned cheeks and she immediately averted her gaze, causing his grin to widen. It was good to know he still had that effect on her… just as she seemed to have that effect on him. Something occurred to Hancock in that moment, as he held tight onto her hand and peered intently at her; they were both broken people with terrible pasts. People who’d lived through tragedy — who, in some way, were  _ still  _ living tragedy — and yet… they didn’t concern themselves with the past. They both accepted each other for who they were now. 

And that was something the ghoul had  _ never  _ had.

Evelyn chewed her lip anxiously and Hancock’s gaze immediately drifted down to that mouth; he’d never found a nervous habit like that to be so  _ hot _ before. On instinct his free hand came up to caress her cheek, scarred thumb brushing over her lower lip to free it from the grasp of those pearly whites, suddenly feeling much more tense and eager than before. “Or maybe we could just… do it again,” he rasped, grinning wolfishly as she trembled against him.  _ Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss that sweet mouth before she can pull away again. _

Evelyn’s breathing was shaky as she parted her lips in an attempt to answer him; the urge to let his thumb make its way into her mouth was nearly overwhelming, dueling with his desire to taste it instead. Finally his body acted on impulse and the ghoul leaned in, face dangerously close to her own.  _ She was a breath away.  _

And her Pip-Boy beeped. 

_ Jesus Herbert Christ.  _ A part of him was selfishly hoping she’d ignore it, but he knew she wouldn’t. Evelyn seemed to break out of the bubble they shared and pulled back, letting out a shuddering breath. Standing up abruptly and moving away from the bed, she fiddled around with it. Suddenly Hancock could hear Ellie’s fuzzy voice coming through: “Hey Evelyn, Nick just got back. He’d been on his way through Boston and had… erm, gotten delayed. By the time he got to your location you were gone. He’s back here at the office, safe and sound — well, for the most part.” 

“I’m just glad he’s alright,” Evelyn replied with relief in her voice. “I’m guessing Super Mutants? Those peanut-brains love to bully people in this area.”

Ellie chuckled slightly. “Close. Raiders. Another brand of peanut-brain. Nick sends his deepest apologies. As soon as he can patch himself up he’ll be on his way to Goodneighbor — although with how late it already is, it may be morning before he can get there. Will you still be there?”

“Of course.” Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief. “Tell him I said thank you. I know we had a plan for Dogmeat to sniff Kellogg out, but I believe  _ this  _ may be our best lead on Kellogg. His help is… invaluable.”

Hancock didn’t wait for the ravenette to hang up before getting to his feet and adjusting his stance so the splint wasn’t so uncomfortable — although he had to give it to Amari for the discretion. The thing was so light-weight and slender that it was barely noticeable. At least he wouldn’t be looked at with pity as long as he didn’t try to run anywhere. If there was something besides injustice that got John Hancock irrationally angry, it was  _ pity. _

“I don’t know about you,” he said lightly, trying his best to brush off the fact that they’d been close to making out just a minute ago, “but I need a drink. And I promised Fahrenheit I’d see her at the Rail while I was here.”

Evelyn stared at him expressionlessly for a long moment; at first the ghoul thought she might berate him for wanting to get drunk when they had a mission here. But Nicky wasn’t coming until morning, right? And he didn’t wanna sit with his thumb up his ass all night. 

But she just smiled at him; a sweet smile that brought back that spine-tingling warmth, shooting straight through his chest. “Go. You deserve a good time after all you’ve been through.”

His brow-line raised. “Ya know… you deserve a good time, too.”

She took a step closer to him; closing that distance brought goosebumps to the ghoul’s scarred flesh. Evelyn brushed a hand over his cheek, still giving him that saccharine smile that made him ache with admiration. “You’re a good man, John Hancock.” 

_ God. Why did a lump form in the back of his throat? Why couldn’t he seem to fucking swallow it down? Don’t cry. Don’t you dare fucking cry, Hancock.  _

“I may join you later. I’m going to go get some supplies before Daisy’s closes. Save me a glass of whiskey...?”

“Sure will,” the ghoul croaked, blinking furiously. The ravenette leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek that was a hundred times more intimate than any sexual encounter he’d ever had. He could smell the scent of her shampoo in her hair, could feel the tingles her lips had left behind, could hear her footsteps as she walked away, leaving him standing there in a daze. 

It took a solid minute for Hancock to regain his wits enough to walk, carefully heading down to the bottom floor of the Rexford and making his way out into the brisk night air. As he slowly trod over to the newly-made entrance to the Rail (the old one had been crushed with the falling of the Old State House), Evelyn’s words danced around in his head like a little fucking cartoon birdies.

_ You’re a good man, John Hancock. _

* * *

“I remember Ham kickin’ that drifter out — what was his name? Phil? — anyway Ham kicked him out so fast he didn’t even have time to finish grabbin’ that girl’s ass. And the best part is — this is karma for ya — next mornin’ I saw old Phil in a nearby gutter, ass-up with that same bottle of rum he’d been cradlin’ the night before!”

The group roared with laughter. Ever since Hancock’s arrival to the Third Rail, a raucous party had been going on. Three drinks in, the ghoul felt absolutely no pain in his leg and was sharing old stories with a large group; among those involved were Fahrenheit and MacCready, two faces Hancock hadn’t seen in a while. He was happy to reunite with the good folk of Goodneighbor, but most of all he was happy to see Fahrenheit. She’d been his bodyguard and his right-hand man for a long time and a bond like that was never forgotten. Getting piss-drunk with her by his side like the good ol’ days was lifting his spirits considerably and suppressing all the confusing new emotions he’d been feeling for months now. It was almost as if he’d never met Evelyn —

— and that sudden thought had his smile fading and his laughter dying down. It was extremely sobering, the prospect of never having met that woman. That woman whose words rang in his head on repeat. “ _ You’re a good man, John Hancock.” _

_ Was he? _

Hancock has done plenty of bad things. He’d done plenty of good things too. He’d robbed a man for chems and he’d also freed a settlement from a tyrant. Did Evelyn see all the bad? Did she realize what kind of man he truly was?? 

“Another for our prodigal Mayor?” Whitechapel Charlie asked from behind the ghoul. Hancock turned toward the bar rather than leaning back against it and nodded, extending his glass. He watched with dull eyes as it filled halfway with dark, bittersweet liquid, and continued to stare at his drink until another voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You seem… different, and also the same.”

A small, humorless smile curled the ghoul’s lips. “Never thought you were the emotional type.”

“Stop talking, smart-ass.” The raider leaned back against the bar next to him and took a swig of her fire whiskey. “Listen. Everyone is… glad to have you here again. But don’t stay. You’re better off out there.”

Hancock glanced sideways at her. “Hmmm.” His lips pursed. “You shooing me outta here?”

Fahrenheit cracked a half-smile. “Shut the hell up and drink with me.”

As Hancock downed his glass, Charlie refilled his drink and set some water down in front of him as well, jabbing a mechanical pincher at the glass of clear liquid. “Don’t bloody care if you’re the Mayor, Ham’ll still throw your ass out if ya cause a ruckus. Drink.”

With a lopsided grin, the ghoul obeyed orders and drained the cup of water before returning to his glass of rum. Magnolia was singing something more up-beat and quite a few of the bar patrons had decided to get up and dance. Hancock simply watched with twinkling eyes, remembering the last time  _ he  _ had danced here at the Rail. It was with someone — someone special — and now, he could really think of anyone else he ever wanted to dance with again.

As his eyes wandered the room curiously, they stopped on a pair that sat in a grouping of seats, chatting almost amiably with glasses in-hand. When did they get drinks without him seeing it? And when the  _ hell  _ did Evelyn start talking to Robert MacCready? And  _ since when  _ did MacCready have even so much as a  _ hint _ of a smile on his face??

Hancock didn’t know whether to be surprised, happy, or green with jealousy. He suddenly remembered what Evelyn had said about reading Grognak the Barbarian and the pieces fell into place. He wanted to approach them but felt it best to let her do what she wanted to. He didn’t have to shove himself into every part of her life; besides, by that point, someone had taken his hand and dragged him off to the dance floor, leaving no room for argument.

* * *

“Listen; I’m not saying that Skullpocalypse was a better villain than Femme-Ra… but he definitely was.”

Evelyn laughed, shifting so she could focus her attention more on MacCready all while nursing her drink. This was the guy Hancock had mentioned in that comic book store; the one who collected Grognak comics like religious relics. She’d been discussing the comics with him for half an hour now, and she had to say he’d quickly become one of her favorite people in Goodneighbor despite his untrusting and grouchy demeanor. He’d been pretty rude at the beginning of the conversation but the ravenette had quickly found his weakness and they dove into a Grognak discussion that rivaled the ones she had with her late husband, Nate. “But Femme-Ra isn’t really even a villain! She’s more of a former villain-turned anti-Hero. She’s also got such a complex love story with Grognak that makes for excellent media. Sure, Skullpocalypse is a stronger villain — no doubt about that — but I was on the edge of my seat every time I saw Femme-Ra’s interactions with Grognak on my television set.”

MacCready’s eyes widened just slightly. “You… you’re lying.”

Evelyn’s brows raised in surprise. “Why would I be?” 

“Televisions haven’t worked since the war,” MacCready said. “You’d have to be — two hundred or more. Hell, you wouldn’t even be  _ alive.”  _ That wariness returned to the man’s blue eyes as he snarled. “Anything else you’re lying about? Maybe you’re not even a real fan of Grognak.”

Immediately the ravenette realized her blunder and pursed her lips. “Ah, about that,” she responded almost sheepishly, “Just call me the Crypt Keeper because I  _ am  _ that old.”

MacCready watched her with narrowed eyes, still deciding on whether or not to believe her. “Tell me about something pre-war, then, if you’re so old.”

Evelyn smiled wryly. She could tell him her whole story, but what would be the point of that? Instead she simply said, keeping her voice carefully even, “on the day the bombs fell, it was Halloween night. I’d just finished making a Grognak costume for Shaun and my husband, Nate, was watching the news and preparing the candy bowl for the trick-or-treaters. Halloween was always one of my favorite holidays; it’s full of laughter and costumes and  _ free candy.  _ It was going to be my son’s second Halloween. I’d stayed up all night making that costume.”

MacCready pursed his lips, focusing on his drink for a moment. Evelyn’s eyes lifted and for the first time she noticed Hancock — not near the bar chatting with Fahrenheit, but out on the dance floor with… a woman. She wasn’t sure whether to feel jealous or happy for him, seeing him loosening up and having a good time. Maybe he could  _ feel  _ her watching, or maybe he was just intuitive, but as the song ended, the ghoul looked across the bar, staring right at her. Her breath caught and she found her heart racing suddenly, lips parting to try and get more air in.

And then he bid his dance partner goodbye as a slower instrumental came on, a soft, happy sound with piano and light guitar and a gentle jazz snare. It reminded her of the old indie bands she and Nate would listen to before the bombs fell. Hancock, never breaking his gaze from her, crossed the Rail and came to stand before her, offering a hand. Evelyn finally glanced over at MacCready with wide eyes. He only nudged her, expressionless.

Biting on her lip, the ravenette took the ghoul’s hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet, taking her to the dance floor area where a few other groups were swaying drunkenly to the beat. As they passed the bar Evelyn set her glass down, and Hancock pulled her into his arms as their dance began. “Like ridin’ a bike,” he said softly, expression warm as he gazed at her, sending tingles through her whole body.

She set one hand on his shoulder; he took the other into his own, holding it tenderly. It was so strange how someone who’s soaked himself in so much blood could be so gentle with her… so kind… but at the same time, it wasn’t strange at all. Hancock was a good man, if a little prone to violence; his heart was in the right place. He wanted to free the world from oppressive tyrants and it was an admirable goal. “Feels just as good as the first time,” she replied softly with a wink.

A grin curled his lips as he swayed with her, his arm tightening just a little bit around her waist. “You have no idea, Sister,” he rasped. The tone of his voice sent heat jolting through the ravenette; she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, her attraction to him, or both, but she found herself instinctively pulling him closer by the arm around his neck. 

“You were right about MacCready,” Evelyn began in an effort to keep her mind in the right places. It was all too easy to let herself slip when the charismatic ghoul was so close to her, watching her with those piercing black eyes. “That might’ve been the longest ‘Grognak the Barbarian’ conversation I’ve ever had.” 

The ghoul grunted in amusement, eyes briefly wandering over to where said drifter was nursing his drink by himself. “He’s rough around the edges, and most definitely an asshole, but he’s alright. Not the worst person to be around.” Pulling back, he twirled Evelyn under his arm before smoothly bringing her back in; they were so close that their bodies were brushing against one another with each movement of the dance. It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything other than how much she wanted his hands to touch more of her. His voice broke her from her distraction, though it did little to assuage the heat spreading through her whole body. “Lemme ask ya somethin’.”

“Shoot,” Evelyn responded, eyes wandering the room as they continued to sway. 

“Does my past not bother you?”

Evelyn’s brow rose, a wry smile curling her lips. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who cares if his past bothers  _ anyone,”  _ she replied at first; but when her eyes met his, she found a genuine question there. No insecurity or blustering; just… surprise and curiosity. Her lips pressed together as she tried to sort her thoughts. “Well,” the ravenette began, “in short — no. We  _ all  _ have a past, Hancock. Mine is filled with blood, too. And I don’t regret the lives I’ve taken, just as you don’t. It doesn’t make either of us bad people… because we’ve done what we’ve done to protect those we love, for justice, to defend ourselves, to make the world a better place. Whatever you’ve done, your heart is in the right place. It’s why I…”

She trailed off, mouth suddenly dry at the mere thought of what she might’ve said had she kept going. Hancock tilted his head to try and meet her wandering gaze, eyes narrowing slightly on her. “Ya trailed off there,” he said softly. “Gonna leave me hangin’, Sister?”

“I had to wait quite a while to find out what you had wanted to say to me, back in Sanctuary,” Evelyn replied, eyes twinkling.

The ghoul’s scarred lips curled into a half-grin. “So you’re gonna put me through the same torture, huh?”

Evelyn met his gaze and the absolute admiration in those eyes sent pleasant warmth shooting down her spine, spreading through her whole body. On instinct, the arm curled around his neck shifted so she could use her hand to bring his head down to her level, leaning up slightly to bring their faces together. She could feel the heat of his body, the shuddering of his breaths, the widening of his eyes. She closed the minimal distance; as her lips ghosted against his, she felt that same electricity as before. It was life-giving, transcendental — Kissing Hancock filled her with a vitality she’d never had before. Kissing him made her feel, somehow, that everything would be alright. That the world would right itself and they’d live happily together to the end of their days.

With a small, sharp breath, the ghoul pulled back to stare at her with black eyes that were suddenly hazy with desire. “Ya tryin’ to distract me with those lips of yours…?” he rasped, his voice sending white-hot pleasure shooting into her stomach. 

“Is it working?” The ravenette whispered, gazing intently at him. She could see her own arousal reflected in his expression. 

The ghoul shivered against her, their dance becoming much slower and more intimate. Most others in the bar were too busy with their own partners or drinks to pay much attention anymore, but that was fine by her; Evelyn was in her own little world — a world she shared with Hancock only. “Not sure,” he answered hungrily. “I’ll have to have another taste to figure it out.”

This time, one of Hancock’s hands rose to curl his fingers in her hair, bringing her in to claim her mouth — and his lips were firm, demanding,  _ wanton  _ even; she could feel every single part of his desire conveyed through his kiss; without even realizing it, Evelyn let a soft hum of delight escape her throat as her lips parted eagerly for him, his tongue slithering along her lower lip teasingly. In mere seconds the ravenette had completely forgotten their surroundings, why they were even here, everything — everything except for Hancock’s mouth on hers, his tongue dueling with her as the taste of whiskey lingered on his lips, the feeling of his arm wrapped around her so snugly, the other in her hair; it was so intoxicating, so consuming that all thought left her and she only sank into his kiss like a drowning woman who’d finally broken the surface of the water. 

In the back of her mind, those three frightening little unspoken words seemed to rotate in a never-ending whirlwind. She couldn’t dare say it; wouldn’t even think it. It was too crazy to even consider; upon exiting the Vault, Evelyn swore Nate would be her last. Her only dedication now was to her son. Somehow… this ghoul had wormed his way into her heart, despite the precautions she’d taken to protect it… and here she was, melting into his arms and trying to avoid thinking about the three scary words that had settled into her chest:

_ I love you. _


	11. I Wanna Hold Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** CHAPTER SONG: "I Want to Hold Your Hand," by The Fuxedos (orig. The Beatles). 
> 
> *** NOTE HERE: This chapter is a tiny bit shorter than normal, but I wanted this to be super silly and fun! I hope you enjoy reading this ridiculousness as much as I enjoyed writing it. Think of it as a brief intermission from the story while celebrating Hancock's amazing character and just how crazy he is.
> 
> What makes this song so special to this chapter is the fact that this cover is by the Fuxedos, a band whose front-man is Danny Shorago -- the voice of Hancock himself. This rendition of the song (as well as all their other songs tbh) is so silly that I'm 99% sure the band was high off their asses while in the studio and honestly -- it fits Hancock's character to a T! PLEASE listen to the song while you read the chapter and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> **** one more side note: sorry about the ending to the chapter I hated it as much as you will aodifhafuahfgiuahdf

> **_Oh yeah, I'll tell you something_ **
> 
> **_I think you'll understand._ **
> 
> **_When I say that something,_ **
> 
> **_I want to hold your hand!_ **

* * *

When Evelyn opened her eyes, her head, to her utter shock, was absolutely  _ fine. _ She figured with all the whiskey she’d had the night before she’d have the worst hangover in the wasteland, but all her faculties seemed to be fully intact. 

_ What the hell happened last night? _

_ And why was the sun in her eyes? _

The first thing the ravenette noticed was that her bed was smack-dab in the middle of Goodneighbor; right out in the open. Furthermore, no one seemed to care that she’d just been sleeping in the middle of the road… the drifters and citizens of the little settlement went about their business, wheeling and dealing and having smokes. “What the hell is going on??” Evelyn demanded aloud, but everyone around her ignored her. Getting up out of bed, she moved to grab her clothes to find that she was already dressed.  _ Okay, this was suspicious.  _

“Lookin’ good, Sister.” The familiar voice caused Evelyn to glance up and she narrowed her eyes on Hancock, who sauntered up to her, followed by Fahrenheit, Daisy from the Discount Store, and… Ham from the Rail? “Slept okay?”

“Just fine, considering I was apparently sleeping right in the middle of the street,” she replied, scratching her head in confusion. “What the hell is going on??”

“Nevermind that,” Hancock dismissed with a wave of his hand and a cavalier grin, causing the ravenette to raise a brow. “Got somethin’ to tell ya.”

“Well spit it out.”  _ Something about this wasn’t right. _

Without warning the ghoul reached out and pushed Evelyn back onto the bed behind her — which had suddenly turned into — a chair? She stumbled back into it, staring up at him in shock as Hancock took hold of a microphone stand, handling it like a pro and still grinning at her in that charming way of his. What was even more odd, the others behind him had all taken up instruments of their own; Fahenrenheit held a guitar in her hands, Daisy was at a keyboard, and Ham tested out his drumsticks on the snare in front of him. Hancock also had a bass guitar strung low on his body and Evelyn thought he looked quite at home; he was a rocker at heart, she just knew it.

On the other hand… these instruments looked shiny and new, like they’d been made before the war and  _ perfectly  _ preserved. 

_ Okay, what the fuck was this? Some sort of fever-induced wacko dream? _

And suddenly they began playing and spotlights came out of nowhere, focusing on her as she sat in the chair with eyes as wide as dinner plates. Was Hancock going to...  _ sing for her?? _

In a burst of sound, everyone began to play their instruments in a groovy pop rock tune, night falling over the town instantly. More colorful spot lights shone down from the rooftops of the nearby buildings — including the Old State House, which was  _ somehow still standing  _ — and the four band members were illuminated fully as they continued to play. Hancock took a long puff of Jet before fixing Evelyn with a flirty stare and leaning into the mix, grabbing hold of his bass guitar and strumming.  _ “Oh yeah, I… wanna tell you something… I think you’ll understand. When I… say that something… I wanna hold your hand!” _

_ “ONE TWO THREE FOUR!”  _ Ham shouted from the back and immediately the band exploded into a heavy punk rock version of the tune, wailing on their individual instruments and thrashing about.

Hancock, while still moving around, kept close to his microphone as he half-sung, half-yelled, “I wanna hold your hand — I wanna hold your hand — I wanna  _ hold your hand!” _

At this point, Evelyn had given up on trying to figure out what the fuck was going on and just decided to sit back and enjoy the show — after all, it was for  _ her,  _ right? A grin curled her lips as she crossed one leg over the other, giving the ghoul a wink as his growly voice filled the air. The riffs were clipped and there were pauses of silence between each phrase:  _ “Oh please  _ —  _ say to  _ —  _ me-e-e… you’ll  _ —  _ let me  _ —  _ be your  _ — …  _ maaaan.” _

This most definitely was some crazy ass drug-induced dream, the ravenette had deduced that much by now; what she had yet to figure out was why she was dreaming about  _ this.  _ Was it maybe something her subconscious wanted, and her dreams were bringing it to life? She didn’t remember taking any chems the night before, however — now the question begged… what the hell had happened before she went to sleep? 

_ “Oh PLEASE  _ —  _ say to  _ —  _ me-e-e… you’ll  _ —  _ let me  _ —  _ hold your  _ — heh heh heh —  _ HAAAAAAAND!” _

Oh,  _ dear God.  _ Evelyn had to admit, hearing Hancock sing was an utter shock; his voice was wonderful — and hearing him practically roar into the microphone was… absolutely  _ delicious.  _ A shiver rolled down her spine and she sat a little straighter in her chair, watching him with enraptured gray eyes. Hancock himself seemed to be having the fucking time of his life, singing and playing the bass as everyone wailed on their instruments. 

Suddenly the scenery seemed to drip away all around her, the walls of Goodneighbor melting into something else entirely. They were all on a beach; not the wastelands near the seas on the east, no — a nice beach… like the ones she’d gone to with Nate before the bombs fell. The band’s instruments shifted slightly to a sort of Caribbean-style sound; what was this kind of music again? Reggae, or something like it. “I wanna hold your hand… so let me hold your hand.~”

She thought with the way he was serenading her, no matter how silly it was, she’d let him do much more than that. She  _ wanted  _ him to —

Suddenly the beach faded away to darkness and lower spotlights exaggerated Hancock’s scarred features as a dissonant chord rang out loudly. Was he going to turn into the main antagonist of a sci-fi movie now…? Evelyn shifted in her chair uncomfortably as he leaned into the mic with an evil grin and said lowly, “and when I touch you… I feel…  _ happy… inside…”  _ Mic stands dropped from the black heavens above in front of the other band members and Evelyn could hear Daisy wailing behind him as Hancock continued:  _ “it’s such a feeling that my love… I can’t hide… I can’t hide!  _ **_I can’t hide!”_ **

Good God, this was going too far. Evelyn watched, horrified, as Hancock opened a whole tin of Mentats, slamming it against his face repeatedly while the others jumped around like maniacs, hammering on their instruments in a cacophony of random noises. Fahrenheit even went so far as to sling her guitar over her shoulder, smashing it against the ground with an almost animal look in her eyes. After taking all his Mentats Hancock began walking around the area aimlessly, talking to himself in multiple voices while another head sprouted from his shoulder to join him in talking to himself. Ham began thrashing on the drums, using his fists now to beat them rather than drumsticks, and Daisy had somehow gotten hold of a saxophone and was blowing in it while tentacles came out of her shoulders to press down on all the different buttons on the instrument. Fahrenheit began screaming as she smashed her guitar on the ground, and suddenly a cow let out a loud ‘moo’ from somewhere in the background… The sound was horrendous and Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, putting her hands up to cover her ears when —

Everything changed around her once more.  _ Well, I found the cow,  _ she thought miserably to herself as she examined her surroundings and found herself on a ranch; a pre-war one. The Brahmin in the pen nearby was perfectly healthy and the grass beneath her feet was lush and green. The sun shone down kindly upon them in a baby blue sky and white puffy clouds lazily moved along the vast plane above. Weirdly enough, the whole band was back on the scene, fully composed and back to normal like they hadn’t practically been  _ aliens  _ moments before. Hancock’s iconic tricorn hat, however, had been replaced with a cowboy hat and he wore sleek black cowboy boots on his feet, which he propped up on the chair in front of him as he sat down and pulled an acoustic guitar into his lap. The others were likewise relaxed as the ghoul in the center plucked a few happy strings and gave her a content grin. His voice was much more hearty and full now, as if Evelyn’s mind had somehow blended his voice with those of the old pre-war country singers: “oh please, say ta meee… you’ll let me be yer man. And please, say ta me, you’ll let me hold yer  _ hand!” _

And then the scenery melted away again, right before her eyes. 

_ Jesus.  _ If this dream was going to go on for an eternity, why couldn’t she have some sort of  _ consistency?  _ They were in a swanky bar, and Hancock and his crew were up on the stage with more spotlights focused on them. The ghoul had somehow gotten his hands on a pair of sunglasses, putting them on and taking a shot of what looked like tequila before picking up a saxophone from the stand beside him and pulling the strap over his shoulder. She wasn’t sure how the fuck he did it — well, she supposed she  _ did  _ know because this was a  _ crazy ass fever dream  _ — but the ghoul put his lips to the saxophone to play; the notes were deliciously smooth, which wasn’t a surprise, but he somehow began to sing  _ while playing. “I wanna hold your ha-a-a-and… so let me hold your hand.~” _

This was  _ much  _ better. The ravenette’s eyes were practically glowing as he played for her.  _ “And when I touch you, I feel happy, inside  _ —  _ it’s such a feeling, that my love…”  _ Even in a drug-induced dream created by her own subconscious, the ghoul was utterly charismatic as he continued to sing and she found herself standing up from her seat at the bar to in fact give him her hand —

— when the bar faded to black and only she and the band were illuminated by spotlights that shone down on them from the darkness above; all four of the band members had microphones but no instruments. Hancock was the first to sing, in a completely normal voice, and Evelyn was shaken by just how beautiful he sounded:  _ “I can’t hide.” _

The others joined in:  _ “I can’t hide!” _

Then a full chorus:  **_“I can’t hiiiiiiide!”_ **

Hancock took a long hit of Jet before passing the small canister around from Ham, to Fahrenheit, to Daisy; the ghoul mayor was the first to begin chuckling, his eyes glazed over from the drug. The four of them began wandering around aimlessly, looking and pointing at things Evelyn couldn’t see and laughing. Where Evelyn had just been enraptured with the ghoul, she was now groaning and rubbing her temples in frustration.

_ Chems. _

She tried to pinch herself to wake up but apparently the ravenette was left with no choice but to wait this out as the four of them continued cackling at absolutely nothing. 

_ Here we go again,  _ the woman thought almost abysmally as the scenery changed around her. At least they were all back in Goodneighbor this time — but the Old State House had now been replaced with a giant platform on which the band stood, all decked out with sparkling versions of their uniforms and beautifully restored rock’n’roll instruments. “Oh  _ please, SAY TO ME,”  _ Hancock growled into his mic, letting out another wild cackle that unnerved Evelyn to her core, “you’ll let me be your maaan!”

“If I say yes, will this lunacy END?” Evelyn yelled, but to no avail. It was as if she couldn’t speak at all; or if she did, they completely ignored her. 

The shine in Hancock’s eyes was so feral it was concerning as his body moved about erratically, his bass guitar swinging at his hips. If she wasn’t nearly fearing for her life with how raucous the group was being, Evelyn would have been bewitched by his hips and lithe body.  _ “Ha ha ha  _ —  _ PLEASE, say to me!”  _ Another wild cackle —  _ “you’ll let me be your man! I wanna hold your ha-a-and, oh  _ —  _ so let me hold your ha-a-a-and…” _

“ENOUGH! ENOUGH!” Evelyn screamed as firecrackers began shooting out from the stage; she tucked her shoulder and barrel-rolled away from one that had landed near her to avoid her foot being blown off. More fireworks shot up into the sky, bursting in a multitude of colors, and other Goodneighbor citizens began gathering around for the first time since this whole thing started. Bodies danced and moved around her, jostling her roughly, and she tried making her way through the crowd to get away from all the noise and danger — but found an invisible wall at the back of the crowd. She beat her fists on it uselessly before finally giving up and pressing her back to the barrier, looking in exhaustion up at the stage. Hancock, now sporting sunglasses again, had begun his final line, “I wanna hold your hand,” but was holding out that final note in a silly reiteration while jumping around the stage and bobbing his head. How had this gotten so out of hand?? 

And finally, with an explosion of sights and sounds that was utterly blinding, the band finished the song with a roar and confetti littered the entire town, some of the flakes landing in Evelyn’s hair. As she hastily attempted to dust them out, a black hole opened up beneath her and she had no time to scramble away; she fell.

Farther and farther and farther… into endless black… screaming all the way.

* * *

Evelyn awoke with a scream that immediately turned into vomit; turning over in her bed, the woman purged all contents of her stomach onto the floor.  _ God damnit.  _ Her head was pounding to the point she thought her eyeballs might burst out of her head, her whole body felt like she’d been stomped on by a Brahmin, and her stomach was still turning despite being absolutely empty. 

Painstakingly sitting up, the ravenette cracked open a can of purified water and drank until it was completely empty; quivering, she got to her feet and avoided the vomit pile, making her way over to her backpack near the door and sifting through it to find a tin of Mentats. Early on in their journey Hancock had let her in on that tip; a Mentat would take off the edge of a hangover. And she had to admit, it did help. The pain ebbed to the corners of her mind as the high of the chem took over and she closed her eyes, leaning against the wall for a few minutes. 

When she felt ready to move, cleaning the puke pile was the first thing on her list. Thankfully the showers at the Rexford still worked — kind of — and she washed away all the dirt from the night before, putting on some spare clothes as she left her armored suit out to dry. It must’ve been close to midday judging from the sunlight streaming through the window of the penthouse. Two things immediately came to mind: where was Nick, and where was Hancock? 

And then a third:  _ what the hell happened last night? _

Evelyn could remember her crazy dream very vividly — but she had absolutely no recollection of what had actually happened before she went to bed. She remembered dancing with Hancock… kissing him… but after that, her memory went fuzzy. 

Heading down to the base floor of the Rexford, Evelyn headed over to where Clair Hutchins sat at a counter. “Has Nick Valentine been here today?” she asked urgently. 

Clair’s deep-set brown eyes looked lazily over at her. “Nope.”

Evelyn frowned. “What about Hancock?”

“Ain’t seen him since last night, when he came to take you up to the penthouse. He came back down a few minutes later and went god-knows-where.”

Evelyn’s brows furrowed slightly and she glanced between Claire and the hotel’s entrance. So Nick hadn’t shown up, at least not to the hotel, and Hancock was nowhere to be found. Was she still dreaming? 

She doubted it. If she was, she wouldn’t be feeling the need to upturn the acid in her stomach all over Claire’s desk. “Thanks, Claire,” she said, forcing a smile and leaving the Rexford as quickly as her aching body would let her. She saw Fahrenheit smoking a cigarette over near the Memory Den and Evelyn rushed over to her before abruptly stopping and swallowing the bile that rose in the back of her throat.  _ It may be time for another Mentat. _

Evelyn searched her pocket for the tin she’d stashed there and popped another tab as Fahrenheit looked her up and down with cold blue eyes. “So Hancock has rubbed off on you, too,” the red-head murmured.

The ravenette frowned slightly. “Yep. I’m a complete drug addict now. Can’t go five minutes without some chems.”

Fahrenheit rolled her eyes, flicking her cigarette away and leaning off the wall. Her eyes narrowed on Evelyn, a scowl on her lips. “Cut the shit. You got a death wish or something, causing a ruckus around here?”

Evelyn opened her mouth to protest, to question what the hell the other woman was talking about, when she was interrupted by a drifter on the street to their right. “Heeeey, it’s the knockout girl! Helluva party last night, eh?” he cheered, giving her a thumbs up as he went on his way.

_ What the fuck  _ **_happened_ ** _ last night?? _

As Evelyn turned widened eyes back over to Fahrenheit, the red-head opposite her arched a brow. “So you don’t remember what you did.”

The ravenette could feel the color drain from her cheeks and she fought for words. Finally, she managed, “I need to talk to Hancock.”

“Good luck with that,” Fahrenheit sneered. “He’s in the Rail.”

Evelyn didn’t waste time; she left the raider woman and ran right for the Rail’s underground entrance as fast as her weak body would let her. Things had very obviously gotten way out of hand last night; it was clear she’d done way more than just drinking. But the whole night was still a big blur in her addled mind. Had she said something cruel? Started a fight?? Evelyn was usually a woman with a firm hold over all of her faculties, even when inebriated — so the fact that she’d apparently fucked up in a  _ major way  _ was nothing less than horrifying. As she attempted to brush by Ham, the ghoul stuck out an arm to stop her, giving her a cold glare. “Haven’t had enough excitement here, lady?” he growled. “Why don’t you go cause some trouble somewhere else?”

Evelyn bit down on her lip, attempting to keep composure despite the gnawing pains in her head and the buzzing behind her eyes from her hangover. God, these lights were bright… why were they so bright?? “I just need to speak with Hancock,” she said apologetically. “I don’t know what I did last night… but apparently I have quite a bit to make up for.”

“Damn right you do,” Ham answered gruffly, “although I can’t say it was  _ entirely  _ your fault. You weren’t really aware of the drugs you took or what effect they’d have. That wasn’t malice, just… sheer stupidity.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Evelyn responded softly, eyes downcast. “I’d still like to talk to Hancock. Figure out what happened and… apologize.”

“I doubt he’s in the mood to listen,” Ham replied, lowering his arm, “but who am I to stop the fight-ring champion?”

The woman’s brows furrowed in confusion but she left the issue alone, instead going down the second set of stairs. She found her query sitting at the bar with his back to her, raising an empty glass for another drink and whistling at Whitechapel Charlie. As Evelyn approached the bar, tentatively taking a bar stool beside the ghoul, Charlie muttered something rude at the woman, refilled Hancock’s drink, and went to the other end of the bar to clean something absent-mindedly. Evelyn could tell the ghoul knew she was there, but he said nothing; didn’t even  _ look _ at her.

A new pain ailed her along with the nausea and headache and weak limbs; it was a hot throbbing in her chest. Her heart… it  _ hurt,  _ seeing him like this. “What happened last night?” she questioned softly, gray eyes lingering on his face, which he kept turned from her. 

When Hancock  _ did  _ look at her, the expression on his face shot an insidious chill down her spine. His dark eyes, those eyes so full of absolute warmth and admiration when they looked at her… were  _ ice cold.  _ “A lot,” was his clipped answer. 

Though it hurt her to her core to do so, the ravenette maintained eye contact with him, trying to gauge what was really going on. But Hancock’s expression was hard as stone, lips barely moving from their pursed state to take a long sip of his whiskey. “I… I can’t remember anything…” Evelyn continued, biting down on her lip miserably. “From what I hear, though, it’s… bad.”

_ “Bad?”  _ The ghoul snorted, turning his face away from her once more. Everything about him was stiff, as if he was uncomfortable or angry just being near her. Evelyn wanted to reach out, to hold him and apologize for everything, but she knew that wouldn’t help matters at the moment — and furthermore, she still didn’t know what she needed to apologize  _ for. _

Fahrenheit was right; Hancock didn’t seem interested in divulging the story, but he did glance over at Evelyn once more, a snarl on his lips. “Huh. Really can’t remember, eh?  _ ‘I wish I’d never met you. Then this never would have happened. You’ve ruined everything.’  _ Does that ring any bells,  _ Sister??” _

Evelyn’s eyes widened and she stared at him in absolute shock.  _ No.  _ She hadn’t really said any of that, had she? Her lips parted to say something,  _ anything,  _ but what could she say? He seemed to recollect the night before better than herself… so  _ why  _ would she say any of that?? 

Hancock tipped his glass and polished off the rest of his whiskey; he reeked of alcohol so he must’ve been here a while. Perhaps he’d never sobered up, maybe that was why he didn’t seem as hungover as herself. Standing from his stool and wavering in place for a moment, he finally looked back at her. “I think I’ll be stayin’ in Goodneighbor from now on. Or maybe I’ll find some other travelin’ partner. Either way, I’ll be outta your hair. And you know what, lady?  _ Good fuckin’ riddance.” _

Tears spilled from her cheeks, sudden and hot and angry and painful, as she watched him ascend the stairs, not even bothering to look back.


	12. Pretty Little Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Back with an update! Thank you to those who've stuck with this fic; it's been a great ride so far and I hope you all have enjoyed it as much as I have. I'm laying the chapters out a tiny bit differently from here on out; Instead of putting multiple songs in the title of the chapter, I'll be putting the extra songs as subtitles as they become relevant in the chapter. I apologize again if there are any grammatical, spelling, or continuity errors; I don't have any beta readers and don't catch everything myself.
> 
> Anyways; to all my fellow Hancock lovers out there -- ENJOY! <3
> 
> ** CHAPTER SONGS:
> 
> "Pretty Little Things," by The Crane Wives.
> 
> "Oceans," by Seafret.

> _**There are lessons in life no one should have to learn  
>  But trust is now something I make people earn  
> So I'm not inclined to just give it away  
> To a pair of blue eyes with some nice things to say  
>   
> I cut straight to the heart  
> I don't believe the pretty little things that you say  
> I've heard a lot of little pretty things  
> Don't buy me flowers  
> It pains me to watch pretty little things wilt away  
> Pretty little things wilt away** _

* * *

A large part of her wanted to go after him. To try and make things right. But really… if she didn’t even know what happened, how could she even begin to explain herself? The words he’d spoken, apparently words  _ she herself  _ had said in her drugged-out haze, stung Evelyn to her core. Surely she could never say such horrible things to a person she cared so deeply for — but she  _ had.  _ What could possibly have upset her so much that she caused such irreparable damage??

As Evelyn left the Rail, Charlie muttered “yes, good riddance” under his breath and the ravenette hung her head as she walked up the stairs shamefully. Never in her entire  _ life  _ had her composure been so crumbled that she’d said something like that, especially to  _ Hancock  _ of all people. It was funny — she’d initially come here to Goodneighbor looking for caps to stock up on supplies to fight Kellogg… and she’d walked away with a companion instead. A companion that had become  _ so much more than that.  _

And now she’d driven him away.

As she exited the Rail and emerged above ground, she caught sight of a familiar face at the entrance to the settlement and her brain kicked into high-gear.  _ “Nick!”  _ Evelyn exclaimed, rushing over to him the best she could with how resistant her stiff body was becoming, and she clutched his shoulders gratefully despite herself. “Thank God you’re here… what happened out there? Are you okay?”

The synth’s expression remained enigmatic, but his golden eyes were shifty. “I’m sorry about the delay, Evelyn,” he said. “Another case… came up.”

Briefly Evelyn wondered what could be so important that he’d go back on his word and delay her mission an extra day. If he’d showed up on time, maybe none of this would have ever happened — a small flash of white-hot anger surged through her but the ravenette quickly shoved that thought away. No, she couldn’t blame her bad decisions on anyone else.  _ She  _ was at fault for what happened, plain and simple. Guilt aside, there was something odd about the shiftiness of Nick’s eyes and his overall unease. “What’s wrong, Nick?”

The detective hesitated. “I’ll talk with you about it later. What’s this important news you have? Is there a surefire way to find Kellogg? I always thought we intended to use Dogmeat’s nose to sniff him out.”

“This may give us an exact location, and even better, it may give us some other inside info on the Institute,” Evelyn replied, gesturing for him to come along. Along the way she told Nick about what all had happened and how she’d acquired the little chip in the satchel at her hip.

“That sounds like a hell of a journey,” he said pensively. “I’ve never heard of these synths; must be a relatively new creation of the Institute… Well, despite my absence I’m glad you got here in one piece,” Nick continued, hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat. “Speaking of — I figured Hancock would be with you, considering how he seems to be attached to you at the hip, now.”

Evelyn’s face paled. As she struggled for words, the synth glanced over at her thoughtfully. “You look hungover. Something happen?”

“I-I’m not sure Hancock will be coming with us,” Evelyn responded quietly and left it at that. Thankfully Nick didn’t persist on the subject. As they entered the Memory Den, she led him straight to the back, avoiding Irma entirely.

Their arrival caused Doctor Amari’s brows to raise. “I was wondering when he’d show up,” she said impatiently. “Have you told him everything he needs to know?”

“Not quite.” Evelyn turned to the synth, a pleading frown on her lips. “Nick… about that chip. You may be the only one who’s able to access the memories on it, considering it’s not entirely mechanical. There are biocomponents attached, unique to synths. There are risks involved… so I’m asking. Will you help me?”

Nick pursed his lips. Perhaps he truly thought of the ravenette as a friend and was willing to put his life on the line for her… or perhaps he could see how terrible she felt and how desperate she was, and he felt sorry for her. Either way, he gave her a reassuring smile. “What’s the worst that could happen? Let’s get that chip inserted into this old tin can and see where it takes us.”

“Alright, Mr. Valentine,” Amari said, guiding him out front toward one of the open memory loungers. “Take off your hat and coat and let me poke around in there. I’ll do my best not to intrude too much.”

Evelyn simply stood back and watched them work, feeling a myriad of emotions. Fear; what if something happened to Nick? She’d never forgive herself. But also eagerness to finally get some answers that will lead her one step closer to Shaun. And lastly… shame. Still shame, and heartbreak over pushing Hancock away. She began trying to figure out yet again what the hell happened last night, sinking deeper into her own thoughts until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, Evelyn saw Doctor Amari staring at her. “We’re ready for you to sit in the other lounger.” Following the Doctor’s gesture, the ravenette opened up the lounger beside Nick’s and climbed in, allowing Amari to attach the correct nodes and wires, closing the pod. 

Back to the present. She forced thoughts of Hancock out of her mind no matter how hard they persisted, and she let out a deep breath and watched the monitors all around her. “My voice is coming through the speaker behind your head,” Amari said from behind her. “We’re going to navigate this all together using Mister Valentine as a conduit. Tell me what you see as we come to it. The first memory I’m accessing is code from the Institute; it’s very likely that the synth this came out of didn’t remember this at all.”

“Like a hidden memory,” Evelyn responded in understanding. The screens were black for a long moment before they lit up with lines of code. That code slowly shifted into a picture; a picture of what looked to be an Institute Courser speaking with…

Evelyn’s hands clenched into fists and her heart began beating faster in her chest.

_ Kellogg. _

Her instinct was to punch straight through the screen… but she forced herself to calm down and took a deep breath, instead listening to the conversation as closely as she could. “They’re talking about something called… ‘Operation Sanctus.’ I assume they mean those synths we encountered. The zealots. They were a ploy to try and get some of the negative attention off the Institute, just as we thought. Probably to draw the Railroad’s attention and make them vulnerable, too. But  _ where is Kellogg  _ **_now?”_ **

She squinted at the monitors, trying to gauge any more of the conversation before the screens went black. Again frustration took over as she learned nothing new. “Let’s try this one,” Amari suggested. “It’s another line of code.”

When the screens lit up once more, the code melding into a picture, Evelyn found Kellogg staring right at her and it was even harder to resist the urge to break the monitor in front of her. “Is this thing on?” he drawled, smirking right at the monitor. “Listen closely. You so much as move a finger, you report back to me. The Institute won’t have full access to your memory databanks… so go out there. Gather your followers. Cause your chaos.  _ Kill the abominations.  _ We’re going to play it smart from now on. But every time you make a move, you report back. We need to know what you’re doing and where you’re doing it.”

The scene disappeared to reveal the inside of a building; it looked like a pre-war military outpost, maybe underground, but Evelyn couldn’t be sure. “Damn it!” she hissed, fists clenching. “Give me a location… a  _ location!” _

“Hmmm,” Amari mused aloud as the memory ended and the screens went black. “Let’s dig a little more. Perhaps we’ll find a more exact answer. This one is an organic memory; it’ll be much more clear, like a movie.”

The screens lit up — not with code, but with a video. A first-person video that began on the inside of a dusty yet surprisingly intact room. A man entered, well groomed; he looked like he might be a scientist of some sort. He sat down in a chair across from the camera and smiled slightly. “I’ve seen your handiwork with the synth monsters at Sunshine Tidings…”

Sunshine Tidings? The people that had lived there, the ones that had programmed Professor Goodfeels, were  _ synths…? _

“... and I wanted to give you another opportunity. There is a monster named Virgil in the Glowing Sea… he’s been assisting Synths in getting out of the Commonwealth; the Glowing Sea is the perfect place for it because of all the radiation. Humans can’t follow without strong radiation suits. Needless to say, he’s ushered quite a few of those filthy abominations across the borders and out into the world…  _ free.” _

“That simply won’t do at all,” the camera replied in a calm yet unnerving voice; Evelyn recognized that voice as the man whom the chip belonged to. The leader of the zealots. 

“I sought you out because I believe you’re the only one that can get rid of this filth,” the man continued; his expression seemed earnest but Evelyn was convinced he was an Institute representative that had come to get these programmed synths to do more of their dirty work — but who was this Virgil? And was he really helping synths cross the border? If that was the case… why hadn’t she ever heard about him from other Railroad agents?

“This Virgil…” the camera spoke slowly. “Is he a member of that disgusting failure of an organization?”

“He — he works alone,” the Institute man stuttered, and the memory slowly turned to black. Evelyn’s eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. So he wasn’t a member of the Railroad, and she was beginning to doubt that he even helped synths cross the border at all. So the real question now was:  _ who was this Virgil, and why was he so important to the Institute? _

“I’ve found one more,” Amari muttered, and the screens began to shift once more. This memory occurred in the building from before; the pre-war bunker that looked to be military. 

“Have you ever thought about meeting in a less…  _ cold  _ location?”

The camera panned over to a man whose back was turned, lighting a cigarette. Evelyn could hear Kellogg’s voice plain and simple, however: “Nah. Hagen’s got plenty of supplies, and even better security measures. How stupid are ya to think I’d give it up?”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. There it was.  _ Fort Hagen.  _ She’d been by it countless times, turned away by the fact that the front entrance was caved in… how many times had she traveled right on top of Kellogg and hadn’t even known it…? Rage filled her stomach and without waiting, the ravenette yanked the nodes from her head and exited the pod, trying to catch her breath and keep calm. “Fort Hagen. He’s in  _ Fort FUCKING Haven!” _

Amari looked up from her own terminal, shocked. “Miss Pressley, you shouldn’t disconnect yourself from the pod like that, it’s unsafe!” she admonished harshly. “We’ll discuss your findings when —  _ if  _ — I can safely disconnect Mister Valentine from this chip we’ve put in his head. You’re going to have to give me a few minutes.”

Evelyn’s attention immediately turned to Nick, who sat in another pod, unconscious. Worry filled her, replacing all the rage she’d just felt, and she bit down on her lower lip anxiously as she watched Amari work on the terminal, clicking away at the keys rapidly. “Damn it,” the Doctor cursed, her speed increasing. “The chip — it’s kicking me out. It won’t let me disable it safely…”

“Shit!” Evelyn rushed over to the pod, yanking it open. “I’m not going to let anything happen to Nick — not after he stuck his neck out for me! I’ll yank that damn chip out myself if I have to!”

_ “No!”  _ Amari protested. “If you pull it out without disabling it, you could do irreparable damage!”

“And what happens if I just leave the chip in?!”

Amari pursed her lips. “I… I’m not sure. The chip could fuse with his own and cause personality malfunctions… or it could take over completely!”

Evelyn scowled. “Nick would rather die than become something that betrayed everything he believed in.” And she reached into Nick’s exposed cranial wires and saw the offensive chip. Yanking it out, she threw it aside and grabbed Nick’s shoulders, pulling the nodes off of his head. “Nick? Nick??” 

But she received no answer.

Amari gasped from behind her. “The chip disrupted his power core when you took it out…” she whispered. “H-he’s… gone.”

“Like hell he is,” Evelyn said through gritted teeth, hastily blinking back tears. “I have to do something! Do you have — a source of electricity??”

Amari jumped. “ — a shock baton, in my office! I use it for personal protection.” She left quickly and in mere moments she was back, wielding the heavy object and offering it to Evelyn. Evelyn jammed the end of it into Nick’s cranium and activated it a few times, delivering multiple shocks. 

To Evelyn’s immense relief, the jump-starting worked — blinking furiously and speaking in jumbled, dissonant voices, Nick sprang to life. It took a few moments for him to regain control of his consciousness; when he did, golden eyes looked up at Evelyn curiously. “What on earth happened? I… taste soap.”

Evelyn blinked, staring at him while still holding the baton. “You can… taste things?”

“Not at all.”

Finally Evelyn offered the baton back to Amari, sighing in relief and running a hand through her hair. Sensing her distress, Nick began hauling himself out of his lounger, still disoriented. “Well, no matter,” he assured her. “Did you find anything useful??”

“Yes,” she responded, still trying to take deep, calming breaths. She’d lost her husband, her son, Hancock… the thought of losing Nick too was too much to bear. “Let’s go, Nick. Thank you, Doctor Amari,” Evelyn continued, turning to the Indian woman and nodding gratefully to her. Helping Nick out of the Memory Den, Evelyn glanced over at where the Old State House used to be and was overcome with a fresh wave of sadness. Forcing herself out of it, she stopped quickly at Daisy’s for some ammo; as she eyed a few frag grenades on a back shelf, she noticed the ghoul owner, Daisy, eyeing her shrewdly. Evelyn pursed her lips, feeling a weight in her chest. “Is this about last night?”

Daisy rose her browline. “No, you just have something on your face,” she rasped, reaching out to pluck a suction cup from Evelyn’s cheek.

The ravenette blinked once. “Well… uhm… speaking of last night… do you know what went down in the Rail?”

The ghoul tilted her head. “I wasn’t there,” she replied, “but I heard things got wild. Heard  _ you  _ were right in the middle of it. You’re a hell of a scrapper, from what I hear. Maybe as good as ol’ Hancock himself!”

Evelyn flinched, hearing the name. “D-Do you know if I…” she cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the lump that had suddenly formed there. “... s-said anything?”

Daisy’s eyes narrowed. “You alright? You look like a damned ghost.”

The ravenette fought back a wave of nausea and nodded, paying her caps. Despite all the action she’d had today, she still felt her hangover looming over her, her stomach turning every once in a while and her head still dully throbbing. Before leaving, she turned back to the other woman and bit her lip. “D-Daisy… could you… do me a favor?” 

“Depends,” the ghoul responded absent-mindedly.

“I-If you see… Hancock,” the ravenette said with difficulty, “please… please tell him I…”

What could she say? That she was  _ sorry?  _ Fat load of good that would do. Sorry wouldn’t cut it. Sorry wouldn’t… “Nevermind,” she whispered, blinking back tears and leaving the shop. 

When she emerged out into the bright midday sun, Nick was waiting for her, standing in the shade and lighting up a cigarette. Evelyn’s brows furrowed as she stuffed her ammo into her bag. “You… can smoke?”

“Force of habit more than anything,” Nick replied, letting it burn for a moment before stubbing it out. “Part of my programming. Anyways, I heard you talking with Daisy; doing a bit of sleuthing of your own, eh? I figured things between you and Hancock weren’t great, considering your behavior earlier.”

Evelyn pursed her lips. Sensing her discomfort, the synth turned his bright yellow eyes on the gates of Goodneighbor and changed the subject. “Ready to hit the road? We’ll be at Fort Hagen in about a day or so. And then…”

“... then I kill that fucking  _ bastard,”  _ Evelyn finished, hand instinctively going into her pocket to grasp at the ring that remained there, safe and sound —

— her eyes widened. Feeling the thick gold band, or lack of, Evelyn felt her heart drop into her feet as the memories of the night before came rushing back one by one. Suddenly it was all so vividly, painfully clear what had happened, what had been said, that she began gasping for breath and clutching at her chest. “Woah there —” Nick exclaimed, reaching to pull one of her arms over his shoulders for support. “Let’s go sit down —”

“N —  _ No  _ —” The ravenette protested, feet glued to the ground. As she caught her breath, the synth stared at her with analytical golden eyes, his lips pursed into a thin line.

“I’m guessing you’ve had an epiphany,” he commented quietly, seriously.

“He’s gone,” she whispered, breathless. “And I ran him off. I  _ did  _ say those things… I…”

Nick began assisting her to the gates of the settlement; as they left, emerging into the Boston Commons, he said, “tell me the story, Mrs. Pressley. It’ll take your mind off the hangover.”

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” Evelyn countered, not unkindly. Still, hearing that last name combined with remembering the night before stung more than she had been prepared for. 

_ Nate... _

* * *

_ “Another whiskey, Charlie,” Evelyn said as she approached the bar, still grinning from ear to ear. In fact, she couldn’t seem to force the smile off her face no matter how hard she tried.  _

_ “Been making friends, huh?” The Mister Handy asked as he deftly took a glass from the shelf behind him and filled it with golden brown liquid. “Looks like you’re more than a pretty face after all. I guess.” _

_ Evelyn brushed off the insult, grin turning into an outright smirk. “Our favorite ghoul isn’t the only one with charisma,” she replied, “but having a pretty face helps.” _

_ “Who said  _ he  _ is my favorite ghoul?” the bartender mumbled, floating away into the supply room. From her spot at the bar she could hear him mumbling, “who said I tolerate anyone at all?” _

_ Evelyn sat back and sipped happily at her whiskey, riding the high she’d gained when Hancock had given her some Jet a few minutes before. She could still feel his touch lingering on her waist, and his taste tingling her lips, all smoke and bourbon and pine. Silver eyes lifted to check in on the ghoul, and a smile curled her lips as she watched him horse around with Fahrenheit and a few other drifters. Whatever story he was telling, it was animated, and he seemed to be getting along on his injured leg remarkably well; but then again, perhaps the copious amounts of drugs he was on helped a bit. A female ghoul came up to the bar and started up a conversation shortly after, but Evelyn kept an eye on the mayor the whole time, enjoying the fact that he was having so much fun.  _

_ Then the guilt settled in. He looked so happy here, amongst all his old comrades, especially Fahrenheit; sure,  _ he _ was the one to request to come with her, but how could she keep him away from this place? This place he called home? _

_ Then she remembered something he’d said to her one night during their travels: “I’m startin’ to think that home is just wherever you are, Sister.” _

_ Evelyn smiled into her drink, finished it off, and raised her glass for another, despite feeling light-headed from the alcohol-Jet combination. She probably shouldn’t; she should probably head back to the Rexford and get a good night’s sleep so she could set out with Nick the moment he got here.  _

_ But something about Jet loosened all the ravenette’s inhibitions and she found herself eagerly tucking into her fifth glass of whiskey. This time, when her eyes lifted to glance in Hancock’s direction, she found a petite blonde woman sauntering up to the group. She wasn’t Irma, thank the heavens; she was some drifter, but despite the dirt smudged on her cheeks, she was  _ blonde,  _ and she was  _ cute.  _ Evelyn tried not to let her stomach clench, instead keeping her composure and simply watching from afar. The blonde seemed to have eyes only for Hancock, speaking directly to him. Evelyn couldn’t tell what she was saying, but there was a playful look on her face and she brought a hand up to brush the ghoul’s shoulder. _

Well,  _ Evelyn thought wryly,  _ Hancock’s ghoul status certainly isn’t setting him back in the dating realm.

_ Hancock of course, being the charismatic leader he was, took this all in stride and graciously accepted her affection while keeping his own distance. He certainly knew how to let someone down without hurting their feelings; the only downside to a strategy like that was that some people might not be perceptive enough to take the hint.  _

_ And apparently, this girl wasn’t. She leaned in closer to him, her smile broadening; Evelyn noticed that while he wasn’t pushing her off, Hancock’s hands had either remained in his pockets or in the air. He hadn’t touched her at all. And for some reason, that had the ravenette at the bar smiling once again. No wonder she’d fallen so hopelessly for this man… _

_ That thought immediately sobered her up and Evelyn’s jaw clenched in anxiety. How could she say something like that? What would Nate think of her…? Loving another man when she should be finding her  _ —  **_their_ ** _ son?? _

_ “Ey,” a gruff voice said from her left, “yer that woman who brought the Super Mutants to Goodneighbor, aren’t ya?” _

_ The question caught the woman off-guard. She barely broke her gaze from Hancock to glance at the dirty human drifter in confusion. “Brought the… you mean the Super Mutant attack?? That was six months or more ago. Why do you think I did it??” _

_ She couldn’t help it; her eyes returned to the scene where the blonde woman continued to harass Hancock. The drifter beside her grunted angrily. “Yeh, happened six months ago, and we’re still rebuilding from it. And it’s all because of you! I remember! They showed up after you did!” _

_ “That’s a coincidence, you blithering idiot,” Evelyn countered, trying to keep her voice even.  _ Don’t let anger get the best of you.  _ “Listen, I’m not here to cause trouble, okay?” _

_ “Not here to cause trouble, eh?! Then why did you bring the Super Mutants here to destroy the town, you bitch?!” _

_ Evelyn at that point barely heard him; her ears were still ringing from what she’d just witnessed. That little blonde drifter… in the middle of her conversation with Hancock, she’d thrown her arms around him and kissed him. It was clear the ghoul was tense and didn’t respond in kind, but the sight, for some reason unbeknownst to the ravenette, made her blood boil. Something inside her snapped and she turned in her seat, gently set her half-empty glass of whiskey on the counter… _

_ … then wheeled around and sucker-punched the accusatory drifter in the face. He stumbled back, cradling a bloody nose, eyes wide as if he couldn’t believe such a hit came from her.  _

_ Then the rage took over, and he was coming at her full force. Evelyn was swaying on her feet at this point, but her battle instinct was so second nature to her that she was able to (clumsily) duck under his incoming swing and back-hand him roughly with the full force of her arm, sending him sprawling.  _

_ Perhaps it was the drunkenness of most of the patrons at the bar. Maybe this drifter was a beloved figure in Goodneighbor, although Evelyn doubted that. It may have even just been something in the air. But within seconds half the bar was up on their feet and taking swings at one another, and quite a few of them were coming at Evelyn; all of which she gave right back with all she had. She, however, only had one face in her mind: the face of that little blonde drifter woman. She sought her out, beat her to the ground with very little resistance, and continued bloodying the other woman until a strong pair of arms dragged her off. Immediately she began struggling, protesting in an angry drunken slur. _

_ “I should be used to you leaving a trail of bodies in your wake,” a voice said in her ear, sounding both upset and amused. “C’mon, Sister, take a breather. She didn’t hurt anyone.” _

_ Evelyn felt herself grow slightly less tense in Hancock’s grasp. Perhaps the alcohol had gone sour in her belly, or maybe her body just didn’t agree anymore with the Jet he’d given her… but she still felt anxious. Like she had to fight her way out of here or she’d die and never find Shaun. Attempting to take some deep breaths, she felt Hancock’s arms loosen around her, turning her to face him. His dark eyes, cloudy with drugs as they were, were reassuring. “Feelin’ any better?” _

_ Evelyn couldn’t seem to manage an answer, but her hand instinctively went into her pocket to grasp at the little golden ring that took residence there. It was Nate’s ring… her only memento left of him. It always seemed to calm her hurting heart whenever she needed it most. _

_ Problem was, she fumbled around in her pocket repeatedly, but it wasn’t there. And with each passing second, the ravenette could feel her chest growing heavier and heavier, lungs constricting until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. The ring… it was  _ **_gone._ **

_ Gone, gone,  _ **_gone…_ ** _ Evelyn felt herself spiraling out of control  _ —  _ until a set of hands brought her back to reality and she found Hancock in her blurred vision. Raging guilt might’ve been to blame, or maybe the alcohol and drugs. The panic. Who knew. But Evelyn felt that ‘snap’ once more and she found herself wrenching out of the ghoul’s grasp, eyes wide with fury, filled with tears. “It’s YOUR fault!” she roared, her own voice sounding unfamiliar as it came out. Some of the fighting had died down, but while a few of the patrons were still duking it out, others had stopped to listen to her tirade.  _

_ Hancock looked utterly shocked; but she blindly went on, driven by pure, raw emotion. “I wish I’d never MET you!” Evelyn screamed, pointing an accusing finger at the ghoul as she stumbled backwards toward the steps. “Then… then I wouldn’t have lost it! This never would have happened! Shaun… Nate… I… YOU’VE RUINED EVERYTHING!” _

_ She began stumbling up the steps, sobbing audibly, until her legs gave out and her vision went black. _

* * *

Nick pursed his lips, saying nothing. Evelyn wiped fresh tears, trying not to throw up as she sat on a crumbling bench weakly. “... Did you ever see if anyone found the ring? Perhaps Charlie picked it up off the floor when cleaning up the remains of your little escapade.”

The phrase ‘little escapade’ made Evelyn feel like a child, but honestly — she’d acted like one. Perhaps this immense self-torture was just punishment for the horrible things she’d said to Hancock. “No,” she croaked, putting her face in her hands.

Nick set a reassuring hand on her knee, still crouched in front of her. “We’ll give the place a look-see once we get back,” he said calmly. “For now, we’ve gotta get to Fort Hagen. I’m glad you were able to find out where Kellogg was without getting our canine friend into this mess. Don’t worry; we’ll make things right again. Now — let’s get back on track. Are you ready to face Kellogg...?”

Hearing that name got the ravenette’s mind back on the task at hand, and her face hardened, tears seeming to stop in their tracks. Hands clenched into fists and silver eyes narrowed in anger — hatred, even. “Let’s murder that bastard,” she said, voice astonishingly calm, and stood up.

Then the pair went on, picking their way through Boston and heading directly west. It would take about a day to get there, give or take, and Evelyn had to force herself to keep a moderate pace to conserve energy. She’d need all she had when she got there; knowing Kellogg, the cowardly bastard, he wouldn’t come straight out for a fight. She imagined that she’d have an army of synths to get through to face him.

But she’d face ten armies if it would help her find her son.

* * *

The journey had been stalled only a couple of times, and Evelyn and Nick made a good team; they took care of the Raiders, Gunners and occasional Super Mutants that stood in their way, using ammo sparingly and avoiding battle if at all possible. Evelyn tried to keep her mind from bouncing back and forth between her three greatest worries: finding Shaun, killing Kellogg, and her screw-up with Hancock. Shielding her eyes and glancing over at Nick as they made their way out of Boston with the afternoon sun at their front, the ravenette asked, “so where exactly were you, Nick?”

Nick hesitated in answering. There was an uncertain look on his face that was especially bothersome considering his usual self-assured gait. “I was… delayed, and I apologize for that, my friend,” he replied softly.

Evelyn’s brows furrowed. “I’m not angry.” Lie. Or,  _ was  _ a lie. She wasn’t angry anymore; but she  _ was _ worried. “Nick, was it something important? After we deal with Kellogg… I… maybe I can help you. It’s the least I could do.”

Nick ground his teeth, yellow eyes looking around diligently for any potential threats. “... I was on the coast,” he finally said. Evelyn’s brows shot up and she stared at him as they walked, taken aback.  _ Ellie had lied?  _ Silence reigned as she waited for an explanation. Finally, he gave one: “I was meeting an old friend. Name’s Kenji Nakano; his daughter has… gone missing.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Evelyn sympathized, frowning.

“That’s not what worries me so much,” the synth said, shaking his head. “He told me his daughter, Kasumi, took the family boat and may have gone to a place called Far Harbor.”

The tone of his voice when uttering the name of the town gave Evelyn a bad feeling. What had Nick so afraid of Far Harbor? What about it placed such worry in his golden eyes? The ravenette voiced her concerns and Nick’s expression grew more grim, if that was even possible. “Far Harbor is an island off the coast,” he explained. “It’s… not a fun place. The people there are wary and cold, and if you go into the Fog… well, let’s just say you’ll find more than you bargained for.”

Evelyn felt like that wasn’t the whole story — like there was something Nick wasn’t telling her… but perhaps she could corner him another time. A somewhat sly grin curled her lips as she said, “so Ellie lied for you, huh? I wonder what other things she’d do for you, Nick?”

If synths could blush, he very well might’ve been at that moment. It was pretty often that Evelyn teased him about Ellie — and Nick got embarrassed everytime. This time was no exception, apparently, as he ground his teeth in thought again and refused to answer her. The ravenette nudged the detective beside her, still grinning. “Come on, Nick, it’s obvious she’s crazy about you. Who says you can’t find love in the wasteland?”

“I don’t think this old bucket of bolts was built for that kind of thing, Evelyn,” he finally managed, his voice sounding much calmer than his body language. It was difficult to knock Nick Valentine off his game — if someone insulted him, he shot one right back; if he was given a problem, he could find a solution; if he was faced with insurmountable odds, he’d overcome them with a clever catchphrase. 

One subject that consistently made him fall short: Ellie. 

It was clear the detective had a major soft spot for his assistant, but something was holding him back. Despite Nick’s easy-going nature and his casual way of talking about his status as a synth, Evelyn suspected he truly felt like his being a synth meant he couldn’t love. Couldn’t  _ be  _ loved. Which was a load of crap, but the mind worked in mysterious ways. “You really should just tell Ellie how you feel one day,” Evelyn said, a bit more seriously. “Soon, probably — because eventually… it might be too late.”

* * *

_**OCEANS** _

> _**I want you  
>  Yeah I want you  
> And nothing comes close  
> To the way that I need you  
> I wish I can feel your skin  
> And I want you  
> From somewhere within  
>   
> It feels like there's oceans  
> Between me and you once again  
> We hide our emotions  
> Under the surface and try to pretend  
> But it feels like there's oceans  
> Between you and me** _

Upon leaving the Rail, Hancock had spent the next hour high beyond belief, drifting in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten this wasted. To the point where he barely had control over his own senses. He saw little fireflies dancing on the ceiling as his eyes cracked open, his body limply hanging in a chair. The penthouse on the top floor of the Rexford had once been a safe space for him, a drug haven of sorts; but now, ever since other memories had become associated with it, the room simply felt…  _ empty. _

Still, it was better than sitting out in the street.

Fahrenheit came in, toting a bottle of clear liquid he  _ knew  _ wasn’t water and taking puffs of a cigarette. Sitting down on the floor near his chair, she propped her back against the wall and began switching back and forth between drinking and smoking, all while staring across the room. The pair remained in silence for a few minutes until Hancock spoke, voice a quiet rasp.  _ “‘I wish I never met you.’  _ She said that to me.”

“Yup.”

Hancock continued idly counting the fireflies on the ceiling, which by now he was certain were figments of his imagination, considering they all had purple fairy wings. “Somethin’ about that just doesn’t sit right with me. Ya feel?”

“Mhmm.”

A lazy finger gestured to the ceiling. “You see the fireflies up there?”

“Nope.”

Hancock held a hand out for the bottle, and the ginger beside him passed it up silently. “She said I was a  _ good man.  _ Now why the boot-lickin’ goddamn  _ fuck  _ would she go and say shit like that after… after the way she…?” He took a long drink, desperate to feel the everclear burn his throat. 

“She was scared.”

Fahrenheit’s reply broke the ghoul from the bottle and he stared at the wall in surprise. “Scared??”

“Yeah. Scared.” The raider forcefully took the bottle back. 

“...  _ Scared.” _

Fahrenheit took a drag of her cigarette. Hancock continued staring, the wheels in his brain turning fervently. “She’d been searchin’ for something before she said it… and there was this… this  _ look  _ on ‘er face…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “So you’re saying she was sayin’ all that outta guilt and panic. She’d lost something important to her… and I bet she’s been feelin’ all sorts of guilt over how long it’s been taking to find her son… you’re sayin’ I should let bygones be bygones, Fahr… right?”

“Sure,” she mumbled, taking another puff.

Hancock sat up, suddenly feeling much more alert than before. He wasn’t sure he’d ever come out of a high so fast. Though the haze was still present in the back of his mind, the ghoul wiggled all his appendages and found he had full control. Furthermore, that stuff Doctor Amari had given him was apparently a fuckin’ miracle — his leg felt almost good as new. “Fahr, maybe I’m high as  _ shit,  _ but I think I’ve gotta go get ‘er,” he said, eyes wide.

Fahrenheit finally shifted her eyes away from the wall. “Do you even know where to find her??”

“No fuckin’ clue,” the ghoul replied, getting to his feet and gathering his chem stash from the bedside table. Only the raider’s voice stopped him as he crossed the room to the door.

“Try the last place she was gonna go. Memory Den, right?”

“You’re a goddamn genius,” he replied with a nod, about to make his way out the door. Fahrenheit’s voice stopped him one more time; this time, Hancock looked back at her in mild surprise.

Her face was deadpan, voice soft. “You’ve changed, John. For the better, I think.”

A smile curled his scarred lips… then he left the room, filled with new purpose. 

* * *

Leaving the Memory Den, Hancock loaded two shells into his shotgun, made sure it was pumped and ready to use, and made a beeline for the front gates. Amari had admonished him for wanting to travel so far on his newly-healed leg, but he calmly and firmly told her she’d have to kill him if she wanted to stop him. Evelyn was about to take on one of the most brutal killers in the entire Commonwealth, and he’d be damned if he was going to let one mistake stop him from helping her. According to the doctor, the ravenette had left with Nick about four hours ago; he’d have to cover a helluva lot of lost ground to catch up with them. 

Just as he approached the gates, he heard a raspy voice calling after him. “Hancock! Hancock!” Glancing back, he saw Daisy leaning out of her shop window. “Leaving already?? Thought you’d be staying a while!”

Tilting his head, the ghoul peered at the shop-owner, dark eyes curious. “Now what gave ya that idea?”

Daisy said nothing, leaning back inside her shop and making herself busy counting grenades. Hancock knew the fem ghoul’s guilty look when he saw it, and holy shit she looked  _ guilty.  _ Like she knew something she wasn’t supposed to. Heading over to the brick building, he leaned over the counter, staring at her back. “Was it just a… gut feelin’, Daisy?” he persisted in a playful tone.

“Listen, that girl from outta town told me to tell you something if I saw you, so I just guessed that you two were splitting ways,” she replied almost sheepishly, still counting.

Hancock’s brow line creased. “Wait… what did she want you to tell me??” the ghoul pressed. “Daisy —  _ come on.  _ Who’s your favorite mayor?”

“Fahrenheit,” she responded evenly and immediately, but finally turned away from the stock shelves to face him. “She — she didn’t actually say anything. I’ve got no message for ya. But I can tell you there were tears in her eyes. I don’t know what happened between you and that lady, but she’s damn sorry. I… I think that was what she wanted to say.”

Hancock paused, staring at the other ghoul for a long moment, before his scarred lips curled into a slow smile. “Thanks, Daisy. And —” as he leaned off the counter, he pointed an accusing finger at her, “ — don’t tell me that damn raider is  _ really  _ your favorite?”

“Get out of here,” the woman scolded, shooing him away. Hancock stared at the gates, tested full weight on his newly-healed leg, and cracked his neck. 

Then he left. It felt like there were oceans in between them; but he’d close that distance, whatever it took.


	13. Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The usual applies here: apologies ahead of time for any spelling or grammar errors, or mistakes in continuity! I don't have any beta readers and probably don't catch every mistake myself. BUT a BIG thank you to those who have stuck with this story, and I hope you enjoy this update!!!
> 
> ** CHAPTER SONGS: "Murder," by Within Temptation.
> 
> "Run Boy Run," by Woodkid.
> 
> "Where's My Love," by SYML.

> _**RUN BOY RUN**_
> 
> _**Run boy run!  
>  This ride is a journey to  
> Run boy run!  
> The secret inside of you  
> Run boy run!  
> This race is a prophecy  
> Run boy run!  
> And disappear in the trees** _

Hancock irritably glanced sideways at the most unlikely figure currently trotting along beside him, keeping pace well. MacCready hadn’t slowed him down at all and was thankfully silent for most of the time, but Hancock hadn’t really been expecting the company. If Evelyn wasn’t fighting by his side, he’d just as soon take on the challenge alone. Besides, it wasn’t like he could make dirty jokes and hit on MacCready — well, he _could,_ MacCready wasn’t a bad looking guy, but jokes like that would probably get a bullet in his head. Unlike the untrusting grouch next to him, Evelyn would simply joke right back.

God, _Evelyn._

That name clenched his stomach in the most pleasant and agonizing ways. She was the sunlight; she was the light at the end of the tunnel. But _what she’d said… that look in her eye…_

Maybe the high had died down too much. Popping a few more Mentats into his mouth, Hancock felt his body relax almost immediately and he continued on his way, paying more attention to the silent man next to him. But one question did nag on his mind; the higher he got, the more persistent the question seemed. But before he could ask, the two were under fire. “Shit,” Hancock cursed, fucking behind cover and pulling out his handy dandy shotgun. He should have expected this, considering they were going through the heart of Boston and therefore the heart of danger — but it was still annoying. He had ground to cover, he didn’t have time to get side-tracked —

Suddenly MacCready shoved into the space next to him, bullets spraying the ground right next to them. “Is there any way we can just sneak outta here??” Hancock insisted. “I don’t have time for this shit!”

“Just give me a second, asshole,” MacCready said, loading a few rounds into his rifle and leaning around the corner. Eye on the scope, he fired two shots and the opposing gunfire ceased. When the drifter sat back, the ghoul could see a smug, satisfied look on his face.

“Well,” Hancock muttered. “Guess I can't complain about you comin’ along anymore.”

It wasn’t too long before the pair was met with trouble again. Hancock had agreed to scout ahead since he was more of a close-range fighter and they even developed hand signals to let each other know where the enemies were and what to do. Surprisingly enough, they were long out of Boston when danger found them once more. Badlands Raiders made a real _bad_ decision when they decided to mess with Hancock and MacCready — but the problem was that the two men were separated, and there were a _lot_ of Raiders. MacCready was too pinned down by gunfire to get a good shot, and Hancock was too pinned down to take any out at close range. “Looks like your girlfriend is gonna beat that merc’s ass all by herself, at this rate,” MacCready yelled across a couple of rooftops. “Why the hell are you trailing after her anyways?! I saw what happened last night — we _all_ did!”

“Why the hell are _you_ comin’ along then?!” Hancock shouted back.

“She promised me a rare issue of Grognak next time she saw me!”

The ghoul had never rolled his eyes harder than he had just then. _Grognak._ Glancing around the corner, Hancock took note of how many there were and where exactly they were. They needed a distraction, something that would draw the attention away from MacCready and give him time to put a bullet in a few of these bastards. Hancock’s first thought was to make a show, and normally he was _just_ foolhardy enough to do it, but he had to make sure he reached Fort Hagen in one piece. He’d be no help to Evelyn if he showed up crippled. He had a smoke bomb leftover from an old escapade with Fahrenheit, but letting one of those loose would take away MacCready’s visibility too. 

“Well, shit.”

**_BOOM._ ** Before Hancock could come with any other plans, he was thrown backwards, back hitting the wall of a nearby building. Thankfully he hadn’t been singed by the blast, but that was way too close for comfort. In shock he glanced over at MacCready to see the drifter pulling out what looked to be his second frag grenade, and the ghoul put up a hand to stop him. “You nearly killed me!” he exclaimed in outrage, making the signal for them to leave, and the pair used the panic-induced destruction to make a quick getaway. Hancock’s leg twitched in pain as he picked up the pace, doing his best to keep up with the drifter beside him. “Did you even _bother_ to look when you threw that grenade??”

“A ‘thank you’ would be just fine,” MacCready snapped, still gripping his rifle in case they were followed.

Hancock muttered curses under his breath, wiping some sweat and ash from his face. MacCready was silent for a long time, but his next words hit the ghoul like a blow to the stomach. “The Hancock I knew would’ve relished a fight and wouldn’t have given a damn about a live grenade.”

“Are you outta your goddamn mind? No _sane_ person woulda wanted their fuckin’ legs blown off back there.” 

MacCready rolled his eyes. “Point is, you’ve changed. A lot.”

The ghoul fell silent. Finally, he murmured, “you’re not the first to tell me that.”

“It’s ‘cause of that woman. The Grognak lady. Ever since you met her you’ve changed.” There was a slight venom in the drifter’s voice, as if trying to get a rise out of the ghoul. “You’ve gone _soft.”_

Well, if MacCready wanted to get a rise out of him, it _worked._ Fury boiled in the ghoul’s stomach and before he knew it he had the drifter pinned to the nearest wall, a hand at his throat. _“Soft?”_ Hancock’s voice was deceptively soft, but the glint in his black eyes spelled death. “I’ll tell ya what’s _soft,_ MacCready — your fuckin’ eyeballs after I pluck ‘em outta your goddamn head and _squish ‘em like grapes.”_

Most anyone in the Commonwealth would have been quaking in their boots at the threats the mayor of Goodneighbor just delivered, but MacCready only scrunched his nose in disdain. “I was expecting a beat-down, or at least a punch to the jaw. You really _have_ gone soft.”

“Oh yeah?” With a perfectly straight face the ghoul delivered a blow to the drifter’s stomach so hard that it sent a little vomit flying. Another, and another, and another; until MacCready was done taking punches and shoved Hancock off of him, attempting to pin him this time. The ghoul was a slippery bastard however and was able to slide out of his companion’s grasp. “I don’t have time for this shit,” he snapped, turning to continue his journey. 

MacCready surprisingly fell into line, panting softly from their fight and muttering under his breath. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he hissed. “Are you really gonna change yourself to accommodate some woman??”

Hancock sighed. He really wasn’t going to let this go, was he? Still marching purposefully, the ghoul shot a nasty glare at his unwanted partner. “Firstly, you don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he began roughly. “If time wasn’t of the essence, I’d be puttin’ a bullet in your leg just for challenging me. I’ve had this conversation with myself more than once and I’ve always come to the same conclusion. Truth is, MacCready, and I understand your little pea-brain might not get it at first; I haven’t _changed._ I’m still the same ol’ Hancock. The only difference is… I’m not puttin’ _myself_ first anymore. I’ve got someone else to think about for the first time in my miserable life.”

A long silence reigned. 

Voice quieter now, Hancock finished, “and you wanna know somethin’ else? It’s fuckin’ fantastic.”

* * *

  
  
  


> _**WHERE'S MY LOVE** _
> 
> _**I got a fear, oh, in my blood  
>  She was carried up into the clouds, high above  
>   
> If you bled, I'll bleed the same  
> If you're scared, I'm on my way** _

Nick Valentine _noticed_ things. It was his job, after all. So he noticed every single time Evelyn reached into her pocket out of habit, and her expression fell. Thinking back on the story she’d told, she was probably reminded constantly of the precious token she’d lost — and the loss of her trusted companion, too. She probably tried her damndest not to be plagued by guilt, but knowing her, it was there in the back of her mind, constantly knocking, and it made their journey silent for the most part. Nick hummed to himself occasionally, lit up a cigarette here and there, even mumbled some information aloud about some of his other cases, trying to make connections and add up the facts, but he was mostly content with their companionable silence. He knew Evelyn wasn’t in the mood to hash things out anymore, and he knew it wasn’t his business to pry into personal affairs, even though they were good friends.

But he could see she was drowning in her own thoughts, and as he racked his mind for a way to pull her out of the dark hole she’d crawled into, an old story came unbidden to the forefront of his mind. “I ever tell you about the one and only time Ellie assisted me on a case out in the field?”

Silver eyes darted over to him and dark brows raised in surprise. _“Ellie_ worked with you in the _field?”_

“Once,” Nick responded, amusement in his voice. “Only once. It was about a year ago, and she’d expressed interest in learning how to hold, shoot and maintain a gun for personal protection. Things were getting rough in Diamond City at the time, considering all the Institute rumors spreading around, and I was a big target for those who were afraid of synths.”

“Wonder why,” Evelyn muttered.

Nick let out a humored grunt. “I think it was the trench coat.” A pause. “Anyways, we got a case from someone in Diamond City whose desperation overcame their apprehensions and they hired us to find their buddy who’d gone out into Boston and never came back.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “I understand wanting to find a friend, but it’s _Boston._ They probably ended up in a Super Mutant’s meat sack —” A smirk curled her lips. “Heh — I could have phrased that better.”

“No, I don’t think you could have,” Nick replied straight-forwardly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “and that’s _exactly_ what happened — but of course we didn’t know that when we took the case. Ellie was scared out of her mind, stepping foot outside Diamond City, but she put on a brave face. First we were met with some Raiders who probably took one look at Ellie’s tiny frame and decided our valuables were ripe for the taking. Funny thing was — I don’t know if she was steeling herself for it, or just panicked — but she took ‘em all out before I could even draw my gun.”

“She WHAT?” Evelyn was cackling at this point. “Ellie? Taking out a gang of Raiders? There’s no fucking way — Nick, you’re lying.”

“I couldn’t be more honest if I tried,” Nick reassured her, grinning slightly himself. “Old girl took out all five of them. Emptied an entire clip and wasted some bullets — but by god, she did it.”

“What did she do when you both finally found the missing man?”

Nick shook his head ruefully, hands stuffed in the pockets of his trenchcoat. “Hid. Can’t blame her; doesn’t matter how battle-hardened you are, looking at those ugly green mugs will strike fear in anyone.” A sigh. “Those bastards seek out fear, I think. They went straight for her and ignored me. I took care of them, but not before one of them decided to take a chunk out of her shoulder.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “I’ll bet you’d never been more worried in your life,” she said quietly. 

Nick didn’t answer. Instead he rifled around in his pocket for a small, dirty pack of cigarettes, and lit one up. Smoking it would do him no good, provide no relief, but it was sheer habit at this point. A part of his programming, even. “I don’t think I have to mention she never went out in the field again,” the detective finally said, voice filled with amusement once more. “Funny thing was, even though she was the one with a gash in her shoulder, she was still worried about this old tin can.”

“Because she _loves_ you,” Evelyn responded, exasperated. “When are you gonna get it through that supercomputer brain of yours? Alright — that does it. Whenever we get back to Diamond City, I’m having an intervention for the two of you.”

Nick pursed his lips, flustered. His voice was surprisingly even, however. “Not that it’s my business, but don’t you have your own love affair to attend to first?”

Evelyn flinched. “It _isn’t_ any of your business,” she muttered. Nick felt a tad guilty for bringing up such a sensitive subject for the woman, but on the plus side, it seemed to have gotten her mind off the mission at-hand. 

As night fell, the pair stopped at a Railroad safe house and took a short rest. Nick had suggested Evelyn get some sleep because she’d definitely need it for the road ahead, but the woman refused. Wasn’t surprising, considering it was difficult to get her to take a break at all. Now that they were getting closer to Fort Hagen, the ravenette was becoming increasingly single-minded and bloodthirsty. Nick knew at this point there was no point in trying to distract her or keep her calm; Evelyn’s pacing and mumbling under her breath was understandable. She was about to come face-to-face with the man who’d kidnapped her son and murdered her husband. It was only her immense level-headedness that even allowed her to consider Nick’s suggestion for a rest at all. 

“What happened that night?”

Evelyn stopped, turned to stare at him in confusion, and finally found her words. “... What night?”

“The night the bombs fell. What were you doing that day?” Nick continued. He wasn’t sure why that question came to the forefront of his mind, or why it continued to linger there despite the myriad of emotions on the woman’s tanned face; eventually he chalked it up to mere curiosity. She truly was an enigma — a pre-war relic without the scarred skin to show it. Evelyn took her time in responding, slowly sitting down as if the question had thrown her off completely, exhausting her. Letting out a sigh, she stared at the wall. Nick waited patiently as she decided whether to answer.

Finally, she did. “Halloween was drawing close. Shaun had been taking a nap, then got fussy for a bit. Codsworth tended to him while I changed. Nate was…” her lip trembled and her mouth clamped shut for a moment. Nick’s sharp eyes could see tears threatening to fall, but she held them back remarkably well. “... Nate was shaving, in the bathroom. I remember being irritated, because days earlier some guy in an ugly yellow suit kept harassing us to ‘sign up for the apocalypse.’ Since I was in the military we were guaranteed a spot in the local vault. Apparently he was convinced the end was coming — he didn’t know just how right he was, I guess.”

She fell silent. Nick thoughtfully replied, “I have memories. Of the bombs. Obviously it is simply part of my programming — the ‘identity’ I was given — but I sometimes dream about it.”

“You can dream…?”

“In a sense.” Nick smiled ruefully. “Sometimes I wish these memories were truly mine. But, ah, no use in lingering on things that can’t happen. The reality is, I’m an old-generation synth. A bucket of bolts with a brain designed for sniffing out clues.”

Evelyn peered at him. A wry smile curled her lips. “You’re more human than most humans I know, Nick Valentine,” she replied quietly.

* * *

Despite Nick’s insistence upon getting rest, Evelyn couldn’t sleep. Her brain went in circles, and it was only the short and brief conversations with the synth himself that momentarily distracted her from one thing:

_She was about to face Kellogg. The man who kidnapped her son. The man who… who killed Nate._

**_He would pay._ **

Fort Hagen still seemed as boarded up and inaccessible as the last time she’d passed by it; analyzing the area, Nick said, “we’re going to have to find another way in. Perhaps the garage entrance hasn’t been blocked…”

“There’s an entrance in the garage?” Evelyn cursed quietly. “If only I’d known… this whole time… he was _right here…”_

She was brought back to the present by Nick’s hand settling on her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t waste your breath lamenting the past. We’re here now, right? Let’s get in there and bash some heads.”

Evelyn nodded, following along behind the synth as he led the way. Thankfully the door in the garage wasn’t locked or barricaded after all, and as soon as they set foot inside the building, the ravenette felt another step closer to her ultimate goal. She also felt a rush of fury on par with a strong dose of Psycho, and had to keep herself from pulling out her shotgun and mowing down anything that dared move. Up a few sets of stairs they went, and immediately the pair was met with a terminal that locked the door they needed to pass through. In the connecting hallway a robot voice rang out, its politeness deceptive of its true intentions: “is someone there?”

Now was as good a time as any. Evelyn pulled out a laser rifle for longer range, hoping against hope her aim would be as good as it needed to be. “Can you get the terminal?” she asked in a hushed voice as she aimed the barrel of the rifle in the direction of the voice. “I’ll cover you.”

“Got it,” the detective replied, fingers clicking away hurriedly at the keyboard. Sharp silver eyes kept peeled for any sign of danger as she stood with her back to Nick’s, using her own body as a shield. If he was going to stick his neck out for her and come along with her on the most important mission of her life, she damn well was going to make sure he left without a scratch. 

For a brief moment Evelyn wondered if stealth would be a better option — but quickly shoved caution to the wind and decided she was going to _turn every goddamn synth in this hell-hole into scrap metal._

The moment one of the striders poked its head around the corner, she opened fire and mowed it down. Another one followed suit before Nick was finally able to get the door open. Putting a hole right in the synth’s chest, Evelyn followed the detective in and slammed the door shut behind her, locking it. 

Appearance-wise, Fort Hagen really wasn’t different from any of the other pre-war bunkers in this wasteland — but the dangers it held within were much more insidious, the pair realized as they moved through at a quick and steady pace. Kellogg aside, these synth striders were designed to take a beating, and in numbers they were proving to be difficult. Finishing off a batch of them, Evelyn reloaded her laser rifle and prepared to move on when a voice over the intercom froze her in her tracks. 

“Well, if it isn’t my old friend… the frozen TV dinner.”

* * *

> _**MURDER** _
> 
> _**You don't believe what all the signs say,  
>  Don't believe in judgment day;  
> But you won't be leaving here unharmed.  
>   
> 'Cause I've been finding out  
> Where you've broken in,  
> And I will take you out  
> When I close you in...  
>   
> I'm killing them all,  
> I put my soul on the line;  
> I purify sins  
> That I've committed in life.  
> I follow them all  
> And I'll be bringing them down,  
> Wherever they go  
> I'm right behind.  
> There's nowhere to go,  
> Your head on the line;  
> There is no rope -  
> You're running out of time.  
> So where will you go,  
> When I will murder you so?** _

Ice slid down Evelyn’s spine. Though she’d only heard it speak once before, she’d recognize that voice _anywhere_. “Last time we met, you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler,” Kellogg continued lazily over the intercom.

Her teeth clenched. “Well if it isn’t the balding bastard with piss-poor taste in beer and cigars,” she retorted, but there was no humor in her tone. 

“And professions, apparently,” Nick added grimly. 

Either Kellogg couldn’t hear them, or he simply chose not to respond, but he went quiet after that and the pair continued on their way. The further they went, the colder it got, and the synths kept coming relentlessly. Filled with a new fury, Evelyn tore them to pieces before Nick could even lift his gun. She could tell from his expression that she was worrying him with the intensity of her emotions; he probably thought she was headed straight for a mental breakdown. And maybe she was.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it, and she certainly didn’t have time to play it cool or use tact. She barrelled through any synth that popped up in their way, taking scratches and glancing fire the whole time; but she didn’t feel a damn thing — nothing, other than rage.

“Sorry your house has been a wreck for two hundred years, but I don’t need a roommate. Leave.” 

There it was again — that dispassionate, snide voice. “KELLOGG!” Evelyn screamed in a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone else. 

Quickening her pace, she was now rushing through the fort so quickly it was becoming increasingly difficult for her partner to keep up. “Hmmm.” Kellogg’s voice was low, thoughtful as he spoke over the intercom again. “Never expected you to come knocking on my door. Gave you 50/50 odds of making it to Diamond City… after that, figured the Commonwealth would chew you up like jerky.” Silence fell for a few moments. Evelyn was too busy stewing in her anger to really respond — not that it would do any good, anyways. Seemed the intercom system was one-way. Kellogg did eventually continue, and Evelyn listened even though every word made her teeth clench a little harder. “Look. You’re pissed off. I get it. I do.”

“Pissed off doesn’t begin to cover it,” she ground out quietly, nostrils flaring.

“But whatever you hope to accomplish in here? It is not going to go your way.”

Evelyn was at the point where she attempted to lift her gun, aiming to put a hole in the ceiling — anything to _shut him up._ But Nick was the voice of reason, as always. “He’s just trying to bait you,” the detective said, voice much calmer than her own. “Don’t let him.”

“You’ve got guts and determination, and that’s admirable. But you’re in _way_ over your head, in ways you can’t possibly comprehend.” 

Evelyn was still riled up, but Nick kept her settled down the best he could. “This guy just likes to hear himself talk,” he muttered. “Never gets tired of his own voice. You can’t let him get in your head, you understand? That’s exactly what he wants.”

“It’s not too late. Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option; not a lot of people can say that.” Kellogg sounded genuine, but there was no way in hell she was going to turn around now. Nick was right; he was just trying to get into her head. Make her falter. Find her weak points, and exploit them.

She wasn’t going to fall for it; no. She was going to _murder him._

Evelyn pushed ahead, and Nick followed dutifully despite his increasing worry. By the time she heard Kellogg’s voice again, she must’ve gone through a hundred synths. She was running low on ammo in her laser rifle, so she put it away and pulled out her trusty shotgun. She didn’t care if she had to put every shell she owned into his goddamned chest; Conrad Kellogg was going to die today. He spoke one final time, his voice sounding resigned. “Okay. You made it. I’m just up ahead. My synths are standing down… let’s talk.”

Evelyn’s teeth clenched but she made no reply; she would wait to look him in the eye and tell him how much she despised him before she killed him. Up ahead, she saw a synth watching them. It opened a door for her to enter, its rifle held uselessly at its side. As they approached, it made no move to attack, but Evelyn lifted her shotgun and put a shell in its head regardless. Normally she wasn’t the type to needlessly take a life, but her roiling emotions had taken over her decision-making. She was angry, and _they needed to pay._

Much more cautious now than before, the ravenette walked through the door that had been opened for her, and she found herself entering a large, decrepit room with old adjoining desks and many trashed terminals on them. This was a sort of mainframe room where many worked together — back before the bombs, of course. Of course Kellogg would shack up here. It was undoubtedly the safest room in the entire fort. 

Speaking of Kellogg, she saw him emerge from behind a desk with synths on either side, and immediately her pulse shot through the roof. She immediately lifted her gun, aiming the barrel straight at him as he confidently approached. “There she is; the most resilient woman in the Commonwealth. Funny… I thought _I_ had that honor. You came a long way… so let’s hear it.”

Evelyn opened her mouth to speak; to tell him all the horrible things he’d done, to call him every awful name she could think of, to berate him for how he’d ripped apart her family, to tell him he was going to die a slow and painful death… but nothing came out. She couldn’t seem to find her voice, and Kellogg noticed. A humorless smile curled his lips as bloodshot hazel eyes — the devil’s eyes — looked her up and down. That smile, that cold look in his eyes, it brought her right back to reality and that anger welled up in her chest once more. Before she really knew what she was saying, the words came rushing out: “You _murdering, kidnapping_ **_psychopath!_ ** Give me my SON. Give me _Shaun! NOW!”_

“Straight to the point, huh? Was expecting you to be long-winded… to make a great speech about all the shit I’ve done… how I broke up your family. No other choice words for me?”

Evelyn kept the shotgun lifted, even more enraged at the fact that he didn’t seem frightened at all. In fact, Kellogg looked quite confident that he wasn’t going to get a scratch on him, and that fact alone had her breathing so heavy she thought her lungs might burst. “How about I just put several bullets in your goddamn brain instead, you son of a bitch?”

“Your son, Shaun.” That phrase alone kept the ravenette from pulling the trigger. “Great kid. A little older than you may have expected, but I’m guessing you’ve figured that out by now. But if you’re hoping for a happy reunion… ain’t gonna happen. Your boy’s not here.”

“Goddamn it, you _mercenary motherfucker! WHERE. IS. MY. SON?”_ Evelyn’s voice had quickly raised into a yell and silver eyes nearly bulged out of her head in anger. She didn’t want to kill him until she’d gotten her answers, but he was sorely testing her patience. Only the thought of finding Shaun stayed her hand. “WHERE IS HE?”

“What’s the cliche? _‘So close, yet so far away?’_ Yeah, that sounds about right. But don’t worry, you can die happy knowing he’s safe in a loving home. The Institute.” All this time, Kellogg hadn’t moved a muscle, not even bothering to reach for the pistol at his hip. Likewise, none of the eight synths in the room had moved, either. The mercenary seemed in no rush whatsoever — and he also didn’t seem all that inclined to give her any answers. 

Tears were brimming in the corners of Evelyn’s eyes, the shotgun’s barrel shifting in her trembling grasp. She spoke through her teeth, her voice shaking with fury. “The Institute, huh? I’ll find it. I don’t care what I have to do. _Nothing_ is going to stop me from finding my son.” Salty liquid made its way down her cheek as she pumped the fore-end of the shotgun; hearing this, Kellogg’s hand slowly made its way down to the pistol on his belt, eyes never leaving her face. Her next question, however, seemed to surprise him for the first time in their entire encounter: “who is Virgil?”

Kellogg’s brows furrowed minutely, but it was more than she’d gotten as of yet. “Where did you hear that name?”

“TELL ME WHO HE IS, MOTHERFUCKER!”

“Who am I to refuse a dying woman’s wish?” Kellogg’s voice was back to that amused, almost lazy lilt. “He’s a scientist for the Institute — or was.”

Confusion muddied the white-hot anger she’d been feeling. “But I was told he — he helped synths cross the border over the Commonwealth.”

Recognition lit up Kellogg’s face, though he did well to keep his expression relatively neutral. “I see. So that was _you,”_ he murmured thoughtfully. “I should’ve known.” The hand on his pistol closed around it, pulling it from its holster. Evelyn’s finger tightened on the trigger of her shotgun, tears continuing to spill from her eyes. Tears for Shaun. Tears for Nate. Tears for her broken family. For the life that had been taken from her. Kellogg’s voice was quieter now; almost tired. “I think we’ve been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end; so… you ready?”

Evelyn spoke, voice barely a whisper but so filled with venom it seemed to fill the room with ice. _“You’re going to bleed, and I’m going to enjoy watching the light fade from your eyes.”_

There was a split-second before the entire room exploded into chaos. In that moment, Evelyn had fired off a round into Kellogg’s chest, and he’d managed to graze her thigh with a bullet of his own before ducking behind cover and allowing the synth striders to take the brunt of the fight. Nick, who’d watched the entire scene in grim silence, grabbed Evelyn and pulled her behind a desk for cover, a flurry of laser-fire following them. Another laser blast caught the detective in the leg before they took down the lone synth that had been in the back of the room undetected. 

Evelyn, completely undeterred by the pain and filled with blind rage, tried to get up and jump into the fray, but Nick held her back. “Have you got a death wish?” he admonished, trying to shake some sense into her. She wasn’t listening; he could tell from the look in her bright, tear-filled eyes. The least he could do at this point was offer her some protection while she went on her rampage; this wasn’t his first time fighting alongside the woman, so he knew her battle tactics. Digging into one of her pockets for her, he drew out a familiar syringe; _Psycho._ Jamming it into her leg, he pushed in the stopper and watched as an animalistic expression hardened her face. 

Though the Psycho didn’t make much difference in the ‘blind rage’ department, it certainly made her more resilient. Knowing she wanted Kellogg to herself, Nick busied himself taking out synths who were aiming at her, giving the ravenette a clear line toward her prey. Keeping an eye on her, Nick felt an uncomfortable shiver roll down his spine. He certainly wasn’t at the end of Evelyn’s gun, but Kellogg was — 

— and judging from the look on her face, the mercenary should have been very, very afraid.

Nick got out from behind his desk cover and made his way closer to Evelyn where she made a beeline for Kellogg, simply killing anything that stood in her way; the detective made sure to keep any other gen 2 synths off her back, though he’d gotten a few scratches and scrapes doing so. He’d been pretty lucky so far, and that was thanks to his sharp eye —

— and it was his sharp eye that saw the frag grenade Kellogg was readying up. She was too focused, had too much tunnel vision to see it. Nick yelled out to try and warn her, but it was too late. Kellogg threw the grenade over her head and the explosion came from behind, throwing the woman forward. Nick had been too close to the blast to avoid being knocked off his feet, the back of his head hitting the edge of a desk. The damage to his hardware had the synth blinking slowly, struggling to stay conscious. 

Hauling himself to his feet quickly, Kellogg approached Evelyn and kicked her weapon away, pointing his own pistol at her. He paused, giving her a wry smile as she tried to come to her senses, blinking away the confusion. He was bleeding profusely and his breaths came in ragged pants as he stood over her, but his shaking voice was filled with satisfaction as he said, “what do you know — not so resilient after all.”

He certainly _did_ like to hear himself talk, Nick thought sluggishly — and that, oddly enough, was his downfall. 

Because through a vent in the roof dropped a figure in a flash of red, crashing down on Kellogg. The impact broke the mercenary’s leg and left him laying on the floor, crippled; Nick squinted; staggering to his feet and panting, John Hancock of all people mumbled, _“goddamn_ it’s hot in that vent.”

* * *

Crawling through the vents, especially with MacCready constantly complaining and taking up all the fresh air with his blabbing, had been absolute _hell._ More than one time Hancock had considered farting right in the brunette’s face in an effort to shut him up, but had decided against it. He’d also been waiting for MacCready’s groaning to be heard by an enemy and a spray of bullets to put them both in the grave, but for some reason, no attacks ever came. A few glances out of the vent openings along their journey spoke volumes; there was a path of destruction that led further and further into the fort, and he knew exactly who’d caused it. 

He could only imagine what must’ve been running through her mind at that moment. 

Memories of that night at the Rail went through his mind once more, and a swell of bitterness reminded him that he wasn’t completely over what had happened that night. The things she’d said… the look in her eyes… the utter humiliation he’d felt… Hancock had been rejected plenty in his life, but none of it had stung like the expression on her face had. It had taken a lot of thought (and a helluva lot of drugs), but he’d come to terms with his feelings, for the most part. He’d put his heart into this woman — and despite the pain… it had been the best thing he’d ever done. It had opened his eyes to so many things, and he’d come closer to the person he used to be than he ever had as mayor. 

No — he’d become a _better_ person. A better person than he ever could have been on his own. 

So, no matter what MacCready or anyone else said, he would go to her. He would help her. And he would work things out. Because Hancock was convinced now that Evelyn was his... soulmate. At her side was where he belonged, and at her side was where he would be. They belonged together; the rest was just details.

The air shifted as the pair continued their trek through the vents, and they stopped abruptly when they heard voices. _Arguing_ voices. “Goddamn it, you _mercenary motherfucker! WHERE. IS. MY. SON?”_ That was Evelyn for sure, and Hancock had never heard her voice take on such a tone. The closest she’d come was that night at the Rail… ignoring the clench in his chest and straining to listen in, Hancock tried to crawl as quietly as he could toward an opening so he could get a look at the room below. “WHERE IS HE?” she bellowed, sounding more threatening than he’d ever heard her.

As the two enemies continued their emotionally fueled argument, Hancock found a grate — not too far from where Kellogg was. He could see the mercenary’s back and the two synths on either side of him as he continued to argue, much more calmly than his counterpart. Turning his head to look back at MacCready, who had a sour look on his face, Hancock whispered, “can ya think of a game plan?”

“I can’t even fucking see down there, how do you expect me to come up with a battle strategy??” the drifter snapped.

Hancock scowled. “I shoulda killed you when I had the chance.”

“Being so close to your ass is going to kill me soon anyways,” MacCready shot back irritably.

“Hey, lotta guys would kill to be close to my ass,” the ghoul countered, smirking. “Lotta girls, too, actually.”

“Ugh.” The drifter groaned quietly. “Scoot down so I can see.”

After shifting around uncomfortably, Hancock was positioned on one side of the grate, MacCready on the other. They both peered down at what was taking place below them, and started talking strategy. “I’m better at close range,” the ghoul said, “so I’ll need to get down there. Gotta make it count, though.”

“I can just snipe them from up here,” MacCready agreed. “It might get so crazy that they won’t even know I’m here.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hancock’s attention drifted down to the argument still going on, and a lump appeared in his throat at the sight of Evelyn’s face. Tears were running freely down her cheeks, and it was taking everything within her not to shoot her opponent right then and there. The self-restraint she showed in the face of such intense hatred was fucking remarkable; he’d have blown the bastard’s head off by now. Seeing her in such pain wounded him deeply, and he wanted nothing more than to get down there and serve some goddamn justice, but he held back. Timing was everything. 

But god, did it have to be so fucking _sweltering up here?_

The room below erupted into utter chaos, and Hancock used the opportunity to shove the grate out, leaving the hole open for him to drop out anytime he chose. He could see Evelyn and Nick taking cover — and the synth shoving a needle full of Psycho into her leg. It seemed he knew of Evelyn’s addiction to the chem as well as Hancock himself did. When he saw the grenade in Kellogg’s hand, he knew it was time — when he tried to drop out, however, his foot caught. The ghoul’s fall was delayed several moments, enough for Kellogg to succeed in his goal of getting Evelyn on the ground. Hancock struggled harder, trying to pull his foot from the fan it had somehow gotten lodged in, and finally he was free —

— and he crashed down… right on top of Kellogg.

It had been unintentional, but he played it off, getting to his feet and shaking the dust off. _“Goddamn_ it’s hot in that vent,” he muttered, wiping some sweat from his brow. 

Nick spoke up from nearby. His voice was slightly warbled, like he was injured. “I’m assuming that was intentional. You have a way of dropping in at the last moment.”

“Just lucky I guess,” Hancock replied, giving Kellogg’s unconscious body a kick and hastily moving over to Evelyn. MacCready picked off the synths one by one from the vent in the meanwhile; it wasn’t long before the machines were all still and motionless, and Kellogg was the only one left to take care of. Hancock glanced over at the detective nearby as he stopped in front of Evelyn; while Nick’s injuries were concerning, he was far more worried about the ravenette on the floor. Crouching, the ghoul brushed some short black hair from her face and took hold of one of her arms. “Up we go,” he instructed gently, giving her arm a tug.

When the mist cleared from her eyes, Evelyn focused up on him and her eyes widened, immediately brimming with tears. “Am I — dreaming?” she asked, voice faint.

“‘Fraid not,” Hancock replied with a cocky grin. “If you were, we’d be naked and I’d be using my tongue to make you see god. Up we go, love. You’ve got a mercenary to kill.”

Evelyn’s expression held a myriad of emotions — amusement, compassion, shock, admiration, gratefulness, immense guilt, and… when Kellogg was mentioned, utter hatred. Gritting her teeth and allowing him to help her to her feet, the ravenette limped over to her shotgun, picked it up, and went over to Kellogg. Hancock stood back from her, and went over to Nick to see how he could help there as she faced her enemy alone.

Hancock tried not to focus on the woman’s trembling voice as he took a look at Nick’s injuries, exposed wires and dripping oil, but it was hard not to when it was so filled with emotion. “Wake up,” she said, kicking him. “WAKE UP!”

As Kellogg stirred, one of her booted feet slammed down on his hand, eliciting a small, tight groan from the man. “You _bastard. You fucking son of a bitch. You took my son, you killed my husband. You TOOK MY FAMILY FROM ME!”_

“Listen —” Kellogg began, but the foot on his hand went to his throat, pressing down hard enough to make his voice incredibly pinched, his face quickly going red. Between wheezes, the mercenary smiled coldly and said, “it was nothing personal. You... _made_ it personal. Now… I can die happy knowing… knowing you’ll never… find… your son.”

**_“Fuck you, Kellogg.”_ **

**BOOM.**

It was a grizzly sight, seeing the shell go into the mercenary’s face while his scalp, skull and brains splattered the floor behind him, but Hancock couldn’t seem to look away. After watching the dead body for a few moments longer, black eyes shifted to look at Evelyn. She stared at Kellogg, breathing heavily and keeping her shotgun at eye-level for what seemed like forever before suddenly dropping the weapon and falling to her knees. 

Having wrapped Nick’s head up so the wires up top weren’t exposed anymore, he set the fedora atop the synth’s head, gave him a little pat, and hurried back over to Evelyn. Crouching in front of her, he watched her intently. She looked… dead. Like murdering that man had taken what was left of her soul. 

And then the tears came. She collapsed on him, sobbing, letting out all the anguish she’d been feeling. Her pain seeped into the front of his red coat and Hancock simply sat down, pulling her in close and wrapping strong arms around her. He held her while she cried, ignoring the brains on the floor or the stench of death or the sparks of the ruined synth bodies all around them. The ghoul said nothing, simply let a scarred hand stroke Evelyn’s hair as she clung to him, as if afraid she might die if she did. Kellogg was dead now, but there was no celebration to be had. Only mourning for the losses she’d endured. For losses they’d all endured at the hands of the Institute. 

She was wallowing in her agony, and he was shouldering that burden too.


End file.
